Trust
by GoldenRoya
Summary: Kurt is struggling with some new issues when he realizes that some things may be more important - like saving a life. *Now continued!* There's more to saving a life than just holding a bandage. It may come down to holding a hand.
1. Dying

_Suffice to say, I own neither Glee, nor Kurt, nor Karofsky. Please feed the habit of a review junkie and give my review list some lovin'. Enjoy!_

* * *

It wasn't his usual thing, to be out here, wandering around nature. It definitely wasn't his thing to be walking through the less well-used parking area that was the back entrance to the wildlife reserve. But, he'd needed to think a few things through, and here, at least, he wasn't likely to run into his old friends from McKinley High, or his new ones from Dalton Academy. He wasn't likely to run into _anyone_, which was why he'd chosen this spot to come, to think.

Except that there _was_ someone here. Kurt groaned to himself. A pickup was parked right smack across the trailhead. _How rude. Doesn't he know other people want to walk here? Maybe I can just sneak around him_, the glee-clubber thought. He approached the truck from behind, opting to swing around the passenger side, some vestige of caution touching him. If the driver was there, he didn't want to be seen. He couldn't stop himself from glancing inside, though, and what he saw stunned him.

_Karofsky!_ Kurt flinched automatically, turtling in on himself, sick dread curdling his stomach in anticipation of the other boy's taunts. He'd gotten him expelled, after all. He was the only person in the world who knew his secret. In this lonely place… who would know if Karofsky decided to take some sort of physical retaliation? Followed through on his threat to kill him? It would be days before they'd even find his body. Kurt suddenly wished that he'd let someone know where he was coming – his father, Blaine, Finn, someone.

But there was nothing. Maybe Karofsky hadn't seen him? Kurt could only hope. He scuttled down the trail, wanting to get out of sight as fast as possible. Hopefully, by the time he left, the jock would be gone.

Once past the first bend, his pace slowed. Things had been…different, since he'd started going to Dalton. He had to admit, he loved it. It was wonderful, to walk down a hallway and not be scared out of his wits every time he turned a corner, though he still jumped whenever a locker was slammed close by. There were other gay boys at the school, and they'd welcomed him into their group with open arms. It felt – right, _he_ felt right. Accepted, for the first time, by his peers. Sure, the New Directions kids had been supportive, tolerant – and how he _hated_ that word. You don't 'tolerate' your friends, you accept them. You 'tolerate' a puppy that's just peed on the carpet, because he's young and just doesn't know better. You 'tolerate' the annoying kid, because you just don't want to have to be the bad guy who steps up and tells him to shut up. Kurt hated to be 'tolerated.' He wanted for his differences to not matter. Like at Dalton.

And Blaine. As long as he was counting his blessings, he had to put Blaine at the top of his list. They weren't 'dating,' officially. Kurt wasn't sure exactly where they stood, relationship-wise. He'd never done this before – does a couple of times going to dinner or a play count as being on dates? If they were dates, did that mean they were dating? And if they were dating, did that make Blaine his boyfriend? He wanted so badly to talk to someone about it, but who did he know? Finn? Kurt made a face. His new step-brother would probably go all interestingly pale and back out of the room, mumbling about football practice if Kurt even tried to broach the subject. His father? He ruled that out right away. Boyfriend issues wasn't something he wanted to discuss with Burt. As supportive as his father was, he was still his _father_. He suddenly got why none of the other teenagers wanted to discuss things as close to the heart as relationships with their parents. It was too awkward. Carol was out for the same reason, though Kurt figured he could keep her name on the reserve list. She was cool. She might have the advice he needed. Maybe Mercedes? But he wasn't sure he wanted to talk to any of the New Directions kids, because of the _other_ thing he'd come out here to think about.

Thanks to Blaine's rousing endorsement, the Warblers were more than happy to accept Kurt into their ranks, especially once he auditioned for them. They were thrilled to get a new tenor, particularly one who could hit the truly high notes. They'd immediately started to teach him their songs and choreography, and Kurt had had his first impromptu show – complete with his own solo – earlier that week. It had gone off resoundingly well, and he was shaping up to be one of the most popular students at the Academy, which was heady stuff for the former loser. To be slapped on the back, congratulated, basking in the adulations of his peers… Kurt had to keep pinching himself to prove it was real.

No, what really bothered him was, again, Blaine. He seemed to think that Kurt's loyalty to his new school and new glee club ought to be total and unquestioning. In short… he'd essentially asked Kurt to rat out the New Directions, to reveal their songs, their moves, the way they thought, their strengths, weaknesses, everything about them. So far, his inquiries had been oblique enough that Kurt had been able to duck them, but Blaine was getting more and more pointed, even going so far as to suggest that since Kurt shared a house with 'the competition,' that Kurt ought to know far more than he was letting on.

It made his heart sink. He loved being popular. He loved his new group. He really, really liked Blaine. But how could he hurt his friends like that? And they were his friends, all of them. Even Sam, and he hadn't even known Kurt for all that long. Even prissy Rachel – despite her self-centered attitude and diva nature, she _had_ been the one to galvanize the guys in their defense of him. He couldn't – he wouldn't – betray them.

But what would Blaine say?

The light was starting to fade as Kurt made his way back the way he had come, mud on his shoes and still just as much confusion in his head. The pickup was still there, still parked in the same place. Kurt glanced at the woods, looked at his clothes, and immediately discarded any notion he might have had about crashing through the trees so as to avoid being seen. Instead, he squared his shoulders. He was Kurt Hummel. He was well-liked, for who _he_ was. He was popular. And Karofsky – Karofsky was just a pathetic little boy hiding in the closet. Heck, he was so far in the closet, he was in the _garage_. Kurt was stronger than him, braver than him. He'd done something that totally scared the shit out of little Davey. He'd owned up to who he really was.

He kept walking.

But… he passed on the passenger side. Pride was all well and good, but there was no sense in being stupid, after all.

He couldn't stop himself from glancing in at his old enemy, though. Just a peek.

And then a double-take.

"Karofsky!" He dashed around to the other side of the car, hauling open the door. Dave's eyes were shut. His face was pale. Only the slight up-and-down motion of his chest revealed that he was still breathing, still alive.

Blood coated the steering wheel, puddled in his lap, flowed over the cloth seat, dripped off the tip of the knife that Dave still held loosely in one hand. Kurt snatched up his other wrist, the blood that was welling out of the slashes there sliding down his arm to drip wetly off of his elbow, like some obscene parody of tears.

"Shit!" Kurt peeled off his shirt, not caring that it was designer at that moment, only knowing that it was absorbent and that he had to stop the bleeding. Wrapping the makeshift bandage around Karofsky's wrist and squeezing tight, he fished in his pocket for his cell phone, pressing 911 more by instinct than by design. He'd talked to the dispatcher and been assured that an ambulance was on the way before his brain caught up with the rest of him and screamed, 'This guy hates you! What are you doing, trying to save his life?'

Kurt ignored the voice, holding Karofsky's arm up, above his head. It looked like the jock had only bothered to slash the one wrist, which Kurt was grateful for. He didn't want to sacrifice a second article of clothing to the idiot's suicide attempt. Though in all likelihood, his pants would never be the same, smeared as they were by the dripping crimson. Catching sight of the hunting knife, Kurt took it gingerly between his fingertips. Dave's nerveless fingers gave it up easily enough and Kurt tossed it over into the passenger-side wheel well. He didn't think Karofsky was likely to wake up any time soon, but he wasn't taking any chances with a mentally disturbed individual with a grudge and a knife.

Wonder of wonders. No sooner had Kurt chucked the knife than Karofsky stirred, weakly. "…huh? Wha…"

"Easy there, big guy," Kurt said, taking a firmer grip on Dave's arm. "Paramedics are on their way."

This didn't seem to register with the bigger fellow. He mumbled incoherently, trying to pull his hand down, but Kurt was firm. "None of that. Hand up until they get here – it's supposed to stop the bleeding."

"Wan' bleed…" Karofsky muttered. "Wan' die… don' wanna live… too hard…" His eyes focused blearily on Kurt's. "How kin yuh be hap'y, huh? Hate yuh cuz yer 'appy…" Sirens in the distance. Karofsky tried to shove Kurt away, his other hand patting around weakly for his knife, but he'd lost too much blood, and even a kid as skinny as Kurt had no problem holding him still. He passed out again just as the EMT's were arriving.

~~~~glee~~~~

Kurt didn't tell his dad where he was going. He just went.

He had to do some fast talking at the door to the mental ward, to get them to let him in. It wasn't easy, but eventually, he found himself sitting across a table from Karofsky on the locked ward. It wasn't an ideal situation; the nurses could see everything from their station, but since the station itself was closed off from the ward by solid panes of sound-proof plexi-glass, he figured it would do.

His gaze fell on the thick bandages still wrapped around Dave's wrist. The white was a stark contrast to his tanned skin, though his overall color was vastly improved from the last time Kurt had seen him, pale as a ghost in his hospital bed. Dave's father had chased Kurt away that time, accusing him of making his son miserable enough to attempt suicide. Kurt had bitten back his reply and left.

He reached out and touched the bandage. Dave flinched, but then relaxed, allowing the touch. "They tell me you're the one that saved my life," he said. "I don't know whether to thank you or hate you."

Kurt shrugged. "Bit of both?" he suggested. Neither of them knew what to say to that, and silence reigned for a short while.

"Why'd you do it, Karofsky?" Kurt finally asked the question that had been burning in his mind for almost a week.

The jock snorted. "You mean, why'd I slash or why'd I stop?" Kurt just looked at him, and the bravado faded. "You. Me. Kinda hard to explain."

"Try me." Kurt dared him. A part of him that was watching from the outside winced, expecting such an impertinent answer to result in a slug, and Karofsky's hand did twitch a bit.

But it settled, and Dave leaned back, sighing. "How the hell can you be so happy all the time, Kurt?"

"Happy?" Up until a couple of weeks ago, that had been a foreign concept. "You had me so freaking terrified I was a nervous wreck."

Dave snorted again, this time in self-derision. "Why do you think I was beating on you? You were happy, and you were – are – gay."

"And you think that just because you're gay and you aren't happy the rest of us shouldn't be either?" Kurt's voice went shrill; Dave's terrified glance at the nurse's station made him drop his voice again. "Karofsky, that's no excuse!"

The other boy was shaking his head, ignoring him. "I thought, with you miserable, I wouldn't – wouldn't envy you, so much. Wouldn't want to…"

"To what?" Kurt was morbidly curious, not entirely sure he wanted to know the answer.

Dave's voice dropped to a whisper, and said the last thing that Kurt ever expected.

"To be you.

"I went to that spot because I knew no one went there. I… I cut my left wrist. I was going to cut again, cut my right, bleed out, get it all over with when… You came by. I saw you walk past. I tried – I wanted to cut myself again, but I couldn't. I just… I sat there. Let it bleed. Thought… it fit. Circle of my life, and all of that. Only it wasn't the end. And you're back here again. I thought… when I was expelled, I wouldn't have to see you. My life was saved. Then I got sent back, and I _wanted_ to see you again. Only you weren't there. And you were _so freaking happy_. Still. And… and you kept my secret. Why? You could have outed me, to everyone. To my _father_. But you didn't. Why didn't you?" He swallowed, seemed to realize for the first time that he was holding Kurt's hands in a death grip, and released them like they were hot irons. His eyes were haunted. "Sorry," he muttered, turning his eyes to the tabletop. "It's the drugs they're giving me. Make me go all loopy and emotional and stupid."

Kurt cleared his throat. "Yeah. I… I can understand that."

Dave's eyes rose, though he kept his hands firmly in his lap. "So?"

"So…what?"

"Why didn't you? That's the part that bugged me the worst – you had my life, my reputation in your hands, and you didn't. Didn't destroy me. _I _would have. Every other kid in the school would have. It was the perfect revenge. So _why not?_"

Kurt just shrugged. "I could say it was because I was afraid of you. That's certainly true enough. But I guess… It wasn't my secret to give away. Isn't. I'm not going to pressure you, Karofsky. It's your secret to keep or tell. I won't be the one to force your hand."

The other boy cleared his throat. "Dave."

"What?"

"Call me Dave. Guy saves my life, it's the least he can do, call me by my first name."

Kurt's mouth twitched. "Dave. Alright." He was about to say more when a nurse appeared by his elbow. "It's time for your therapy session, Dave," she said, nodding over to the other end of the room where the other patients – Kurt tried not to think of them as 'inmates' – were gathering.

The big jock shared a look with his smaller visitor. "Really? And here I thought I was just having one. See you later, Kurt," he said, surprising the other boy by flinging an arm around him in a hug. "Thanks," he muttered, a word meant for Kurt's ears alone. Then he was gone, and Kurt was being buzzed through two sets of locked doors and back into the sunlight.

~~~~~glee~~~~~

"So, Kurt, what've you heard from Finn about the New Directions?" Blaine asked before the next Warblers practice.

Kurt took a deep breath. "Blaine?"

"Yeah?" The lead singer's eyes focused on him, giving him his full attention. Kurt steeled himself for what he was about to say.

"I'm not going to rat them out. So you can stop asking."

Blaine looked taken aback. "What brought this on?" he demanded.

_I am who I am. _"I won't betray a friend's trust," he said, simply. _On any level_.


	2. Dreaming

_So... wow. Such a huge response to my humble story! And so many people asking for additional chapters. And even more setting story alerts. Y'all _do _know that I'd marked it Complete, right? A one-shot? Not intended to keep going? Single chapter? Uno libro (forgive me, me no speaka Spanish...)? _

_Well, just in case anyone thought that their reviews make no difference, this here chapter is about to prove you wrong. This is dedicated to the fans - to the dedicated reviewers - to all those who story-alerted me and made me feel so darn wonderful - here is chapter 2! And there will be at least a couple more, because once you-all got my juices flowing on this, there was kinda no stopping it. My muse thanks you. Now if I can just beat her into submission so she'll give up the story so's I can write it, we'll all be happy, yes?_

_Set after _"Furt" _but - in all likelihood - probably going to wind up being AU. Because that's just the seriously annoying part about writing fanfic based off of a TV show that updates every week - the story may start out properly canon, but by the time the next week rolls around, everything has been tossed like a Caesar salad and anything written between one week and another is suddenly out of date. I'll try to keep it as kosher as possible, but I'll keep whatever plot devices advance my ideas. *fiendish grin* _

_That said, enjoy! Please review - it DOES make a difference, and I love gleaning new ideas from my reviewers! Love y'all!_

* * *

_The day after the Event_

The doorbell rang. Kurt, bleary-eyed from his extremely late night of sitting in the hospital with Karofsky, nevertheless looked stunning in his Dolce and Gabbana shirt and matching trousers. Which was a good thing, as the person on the other side of the door was Karen Garten, journalist extraordinaire with an international readership that nearly extended all the way to Beaversdam, Ohio, on a lucky weekend, or when a passing trucker took a copy of the originally-titled _Lima News_ on the road to use as a stash of emergency toilet paper.

"Hello?" he greeted her, eyes going up and down her Sears off-the-rack-and-definitely-needing-to-be-seen-by-a-tailor-(or better yet, an incinerator) suit.

"Mr. Hummer?" asked the bottle blonde. Kurt frowned.

"It's Hummel, and my dad's not interested," he said, swinging the door shut.

A pump that had to have originated in a Payless wedged itself in the doorjamb. "Karen Garten," she said, voice muffled by the thick door. "_Lima News_. I'm here to speak with Mr. Kurt Hummel."

"My dad's name is Burt," the teen replied, opening the door to glare at her. Normally, he'd be more polite. But _normally_, he hadn't had such a hellish night, capped by sleep truncated by nightmares. He was just a little bit on edge, and _so_ not ready to deal with cheap wannabes. "_I'm_ Kurt. If it's about the New Directions, I'm at a new school now, so I've got nothing to say on the subject. If it's about Dalton, I've been there, what, two weeks? So I'm still forming opinions. If it's about music, check my facebook page. Will that be all?"

He'd hoped that his usual rapid-fire attack and sudden wall would throw her, but he was to be disappointed. "Actually, I wanted to speak with you about David Karofsky," she said. Somehow, with some trick of psychic space, subtle motion, and attitude, she'd managed to make him back up a few steps. She closed the door behind her and motioned to the living room couch. "Shall we sit? It will make the interview so much more comfortable."

"Wait, interview?" asked Kurt as he was hustled over.

"Yes, yes, the interview. Now," she said, settling just across from him in Carol's wingback chair, recorder at the ready, "Tell me, what did you see last night?"

"Last night?"

"Yes, yes, last night. I understand you saved a fellow high school student's life? Your former bully, I believe, Mr. David Karofsky, is that right?"

Kurt blinked at her, to have his verbal sparring tactics used on him. "Well, yes I did, and yes, he is, but –"

The bottle-blonde charged right ahead. "So, tell me, why would you save the life of the person who had you reportedly, 'Shivering like a baby mouse in the middle of a litter of inquisitive kittens whose mother has just tossed them out to fend for themselves without even a last suckle on her feline tits to bid them farewell'?" she quoted, only having to refer back to her notes once.

Kurt blinked. "You talked to Sue Sylvester?" he asked, trying to shake his sleep-deprived brain into some semblance of order.

Ms. Garten smiled at him. "That certainly sounds like her, doesn't it? Yes, she verified that you and Mr. Karofsky had… history. But that only deepens this mystery. Why would you bother saving the life of your tormentor? Was your identity so wrapped up in his that you couldn't let him die and so rob you of your life's definition?" She had a predatory glint in her eye.

But Kurt's mind was waking up now. "Or was it his inability to live without someone to torture that drove him to suicide and only my unthinking altruism and value of human life that thwarted his attempt at death?"

Karen's lip twitched up in a smile. "Touché. So, was it?"

"Was it what?" Damn, she was quick on the uptake. Kurt would have been enjoying this verbal thrust-and-parry, but for the subject. "A spoilt child's reaction to having his favorite toy taken away? Perhaps. Perhaps not. I believe that the only person who can truly comment on the state of mind of Dave Karofsky is Dave Karofsky."

"But you _must_ have a theory," she pressed, leaning forward. The little black button of material that masked the mouth of the recorder opened wider, swallowing in all sounds. Kurt had a sudden dizzy feeling. Revenge. It would be so easy. Just a slip of the tongue, as it were, a veiled euphemism, a smile, a nod, a wink. A hint to Karen Garten about Karofsky's sexuality would be as good as singing it from the rooftops – better, as it a) wouldn't be coming from Kurt and was likelier to be taken as truth and not rumormongering, and b) would reach a wider audience. He'd be ruined. Kurt would win. Karofsky would never threaten Kurt again.

Mostly because he'd be dead. Karofsky wasn't the type to be able to live with shame. Kurt had the sudden, gut-certain feeling that if he so much as breathed a single whisper of Karofsky's secret, he wouldn't give _anyone_ a second chance to save his life.

Kurt shrugged, flippantly. "Personally? I'd say it's because he's a glory-hound. He lost his favorite punching-bag – me – _and _his space on the football team. A guy like that, he's emotionally immature. He can't deal with any emotions deeper than a Chicago-style pizza. His only way out is… out."

"Wouldn't you say that's a trifle… glib?" she asked, brows arching a bit at this.

"Perhaps," he allowed, rising deliberately. Almost as though pulled by a string, the journalist followed suit. "But you're just looking for sound-bytes anyway. Feel free to plagiarize me, by the way. It's a brilliant turn-of-phrase, if I do say so myself." He'd led her to the door by this point and he opened it and waved her outside, very gentlemanly. "It's been a pleasure speaking with you," he said by way of farewell, "but please, call first next time. I've been rehearsing quite strenuously lately. Competition, you know, lots to catch up on. Good day."

He had the door closed on her before she even knew what had happened.

Kurt breathed a sigh of relief once she was gone. He hadn't spilled the beans, hadn't given away anything that might be remotely considered important, and had, he hoped, pointed her in as opposite a direction from confusion over sexuality as he could steer.

And mentally kicked himself. He'd covered for Karofsky for so long, concealing his bullying, hiding the worst of his sins, protecting his secret. Even at the new school, here he was, _still_ worried about telling the whole truth.

_Karofsky, darn you, you'd better appreciate what I just did for you…_ Fat chance. But, at least he wasn't going to be hunted down by an enraged – outed – grizzly bear of a mentally-unstable, gay jock.

_Maybe I'll just call it self-preservation and leave it at that._

* * *

_A few days later_

"Come on, Pavarotti," Kurt said, gathering up the canary's cage. "Let's go." He rather liked the little yellow bird. It was sunny, and happy, and liked to sing almost as much as Kurt himself did. And Kurt felt like he needed cheering up. The visit to the psych ward yesterday had been draining. He'd never thought to see Karof- Dave - so... vulnerable.

"Kurt!"

Kurt turned, his face brightening. "Blaine!"

But Blaine's face wasn't so happy. "What did you do?" he asked, holding out a newspaper. "It says here that you saved that, that _bully's_ life?"

Kurt set the cage down, the smile draining from his face. "Yeah," he said, slowly. "What else was I supposed to do? I couldn't let him die."

"But you covered for him. I mean, have you _read_ this article? You _know_ why he was up there – he couldn't handle that he's gay! But here – it reads like you're still suffering from Stockholm Syndrome!"

Kurt _had_ read the article and personally disagreed with him, but before he could voice that opinion, Blaine continued. "Yeah, we gays don't out one another. But, damn Kurt! It's like you stood up for yourself _once_, and, bam, that's it! You can't stop at just once, you've got to keep going at it, prove that once wasn't a fluke, that you really do have that backbone and can keep dishing it out, _making _them respect you!"

Kurt stared at the floor. "I'm not sorry I saved his life," he murmured quietly. How could he make Blaine understand?

Blaine sighed and quit shaking the paper, setting it down and leaning against the table. "I know, Kurt. I'm glad you saved him, too; it was the right thing. I just… I wish it wasn't so hard, you know?"

The two Dalton boys stared around the austere school, the uniforms that marked them as just a pair in a crowd. It vaguely reminded Kurt of the first real, serious talk he and Blaine had had, the one that had ended with Blaine declaring his own cowardice in choosing to run rather than to fight the prejudice that had dogged him. Kurt cast a sidelong look at the other teen; what must Blaine think of him, now that he'd run, too? And how could he tell him that he'd visited Kar- Dave, without sounding defensive? Why _had_ he visited the hospital, anyway?

"Well. At least you tried," Blaine finally said, gruffly. "I've got to run or I'll be late to class. I'll see you around."

* * *

_Some two months later…_

"Blaine, will you stop it?" Kurt giggled, batting the other boy away from him.

Blaine gave one final nuzzle and grinned, hugging him around the shoulders before swinging around the table and taking the seat opposite. Kurt grinned back, blitzed by the sneak attack. One of the other patrons of the Dalton Academy library rolled his eyes at the pair, then turned back to his notes.

"Whatcha studying?" the older boy asked, trying to read Kurt's notes upside-down. Giving up on that, he reached out and flipped the notebook around.

"…Kurt, with as neat as your handwriting usually is, you'd think I would be able to read at least _some_ of this. What is it, Latin?"

Kurt reddened, slightly. "It's shorthand. The teachers here talk so fast, I had to develop my own system to speed up my note-taking. At McKinley, I was always the top of my class without hardly trying. It's a lot harder here."

Blaine frowned, and Kurt mentally kicked himself. Blaine hated it when he talked about his former school. He'd stopped badgering him about the New Directions when Kurt had put his foot down, two months ago now, but that had started the moratorium on _all _things having to do with Kurt's life at the public high school. At first, it had been a relief, not having to talk, to think about it. Then, as he'd started to relax, to try to wrap his head around what had happened, well… Blaine hadn't exactly been the most supportive. His theory seemed to be that if he ignored it, then it had never happened, Kurt had always been at Dalton, and Karofsky didn't exist.

"'_Without hardly?_'" Blaine echoed. "Better practice your grammar, Porcelain."

Then it was Kurt's turn to frown. Of all the things for Blaine to latch onto about McKinley, he wished to God it hadn't been _that_. He'd told him about it as a joke. Now, Blaine had made it into a pet name, and Kurt couldn't get rid of it.

They exchanged some more inane small talk, Blaine said, "I'll see you after class," and he exited the library, leaving Kurt to his studies.

Once he was gone, Kurt sighed, staring off into the distance, letting his mind drift. The faint buzzing of his cell phone in his pocket jolted him out of his reverie, and, glancing around – no librarians had heard him, thank goodness – checked the screen.

It was a text message from Dave. _Hey. How RU?_

They'd exchanged numbers the last time he'd visited the other boy, the day before he'd been set to be released from the mental ward. This was the first time that Dave had contacted Kurt - three weeks after the fact. Kurt had begun to think he'd lost the number, and he hadn't been at all sure that was a bad thing.

Well. Evidently he'd found it again. If it had even been lost to begin with. Kurt thought, somewhat guiltily, about the scrap of paper with a hastily-scrawled number on it that was taped to the back of the drawer of his bedside table at home. Never looked at, never used, but always there, at the back of his mind.

He stared at the readout. _Hey. How RU_. He mentally shuddered. And Blaine thought _his_ grammar was atrocious. He considered just tucking the phone back into his pocket, to mull over, think about, consider his response. Though he knew that if he did _that_, it would never get answered. He'd forget about it, let a few days pass, then feel guilty about ignoring it for so long, and awkward about texting back, and wonder if it would be rude to send a reply after such a long time had passed, until he deleted it out of pure self-preservation, just so he wouldn't have the thing lurking in his inbox, making him feel guilty.

His thumb hovered over the delete button. _Why not just short-circuit the whole mess right now?_ he thought. _It'd be easy enough_.

Instead, his fingers brushed the keypad. _I'm okay. How about you?_ He hesitated a long time before looking up, eyes drifting across the books and papers strewn across his appropriated table, and his thumb ever-so-gently brushed the Send button. A muted _chirp_ indicated that the message had been sent.

Kurt's stomach flip-flopped. Too late to call it back now.

Tucking the phone deep into his pants' pocket, to muffle the sound of the vibration when Karofsky sent his return message – Kurt didn't want to get in trouble, after all, and cell phone use was prohibited at Dalton – Kurt turned back to his notes.

He'd gotten good at shorthand. Well, it was his own method, after all. Why shouldn't he be proficient? It was a good system. Logical.

His eyes skimmed his History notes. McKinley had only offered American History; here, he was having to tackle the history of the entire human race from Adam and Eve on down. And Literature wasn't just English Lit. The teacher was a huge Classics buff, so they were studying (in the English versions, thankfully) Dante's _Inferno_; _The Epic of Gilgamesh_; Victor Hugo's _Les Miserables_ – at least Kurt knew the basics of that one from the musical, but he was rather surprised at how much more there was to the story; the _Nibelungenlied_; Shakespeare's _THe Merchant of Venice_; and _Beowulf_, which the teacher assured them was in English, just a very, very old form of it. "Hwæt. We Gardena in geardagum," he muttered to himself. "How the heck does she get, 'What, We Spear-Danes in the old days,' from _that?_ No way is that English."

And where was Dave? His pocket hadn't buzzed yet.

He turned over his algebra notes, blinked at them, and set them aside for later. That final wasn't until Friday, so he had a few days yet to cram. He mentally reviewed the finals' schedule, and realized that Biology was coming up on Monday.

He grinned, remembering the teacher's first words to the class. "In this class, we won't be studying the science of biology. We'll be studying the science of sex." _That_ had gotten the attention of the class, all right. Mr. Letrom went on to explain that biology was essentially the study of why and how things reproduced, and what went into making more little copies of themselves, and all the things that made it so that a cow didn't look like a horse and how to tell the difference - 'besides the underside excretions, boys...' - and so on and so forth. And he expected a lot out of Kurt. That was probably the most stunning part, that a teacher outside of the arts had taken a personal interest in _him_, thought he had potential, and pushed him to excell. And he was darn good at it, too. His father had been stunned to hear Kurt burbling about science at the dinner table and not - so much, anyway - glee club.

Which had become a bit of a sore point, to be honest. Kurt had been warned - strenuously - by not only Blaine but the entire membership of the Warblers that Kurt wasn't to go talking about them to _anyone_, Burt included and Finn especially. Finn kept Kurt up to date with all the New Directions member's news, but it wasn't the same. Rachel had forbidden Finn from talking to Kurt about any of _their _pieces, so that meant that dinner conversation was rather limited.

Kurt frowned to himself, thinking of the last several dinners they'd shared as a family. Things had been tense all around, and not just between him and Finn. Huh. He hadn't noticed it at the time. What had his dad and Carol been pussy-footing around - ?

_Bzzzzt._

He whipped his phone out of his pocket. Karofsky.

_Can we meet? Need 2 talk. _

Oh. Joy. Dave wanted to see him, face-to-face? Just what he needed. With his luck, the ignoramus had decided that there was only one way to get back his equilibrium and that was taking a certain gay kid down a few more notches. Belly crimping, Kurt typed, _NO!_

Then thought better of it. Karofsky - Dave - he'd seemed... changed, in the hospital. Kurt knew too well that people were vulnerable in the psych ward, and that vulnerable people didn't behave the same way once they had their walls back up. But maybe...?

_Caribou Coffee? _he suggested. _4:00?_ Busy place, busy time, and a lot of the off-duty cops liked to hang out there. Dave - Karofsky - would be on his best behaviour in that crowd.

The reply was almost instantaneous. _Be there. CU then._

Kurt tucked his phone back in his pocket, swallowing hard. _What have I just gotten myself into?_ he thought. _I must be ten kinds of idiot for this_.


	3. Deciding

_And the Glee-lovin' goes on! I'm pretty sure I don't own it. Reviews inspire updates faster (hint, hint...)_

~~~glee~~~~

Kurt arrived at the coffee shop at precisely 4:08, having dragged his feet all the way down the sidewalk from the bus stop - Finn had the car today, so Kurt was stuck taking public transportation.

He stared through the front window. The shop was set up in such a way that he couldn't see diddly, just a couple of tables and the central-island counter blocking his view of the back. Taking a deep breath, he pushed his way in, the bell over the door jingling happily.

No one looked up. Kurt walked all the way around the shop, looking, but Karofsky wasn't here. A glance at his watch showed 4:12. _Did that meathead just stand me up?_ he thought to himself, indignantly. I'm _the one who didn't want this meet! Least he could do is show up to tell me he's not coming._

Before he could really work himself up into a snit, however, the weak winter sunlight coming through the glass door was eclipsed and Kurt turned to see a mountain of jock reach up to silence the happy bell with one big fist. _Maybe this wasn't such a grand idea…_

Dave glanced around the shop, eyes lighting on Kurt with something appallingly close to joy in his eyes, though the smile on his lips was strained. He waved Kurt over. "Got your coffee yet?" he asked. "Sorry I'm late. Traffic."

Kurt glanced out at the placid street. A single car drove past, nearly sideswiping the year's last, determined bicyclist, who shook a fist at the offending driver. "I can see that," he murmured with a grin, before remembering who he was talking to. Dave flushed, but didn't amend his excuse.

"What'll you be having?" asked the girl behind the counter, her bright smile likely having nothing to do with her perky personality and more to do with the perking coffee.

Kurt stared up at the board. "Café au lait," he said. "Your dark blend, please." He fumbled in his back pocket for his wallet, but Karofsky's hand on his elbow stopped him. He froze, terrified.

"And I'll have a Mint Condition," the bigger boy said. "Here, keep the change." He tossed down a ten, shot the girl a winning smile, and moved off to the other end of the counter. Kurt stared after him in shock. _Karofsky_ was paying? What was this, some kind of date?

They got their drinks and settled in an out-of-the-way booth. Dave fished the chocolate-covered coffee bean out of the depression in his lid and crunched into it, a smile gracing his lips. "Mm-hm. You ever been in the psych ward, Hummel?" he asked, then continued before Kurt had to answer. "They don't give you shit up there. I really missed these beans. Funny - never appreciated 'em before. Guess it takes a bit of deprivation to make a guy realize what he's got."

The look he gave Kurt made him distinctly uncomfortable, and he quickly took a too-quick sip of too-hot coffee. His eyes bugged, and he forced himself to swallow, not spray, the bitter liquid burning its way down his throat.

Karofsky sipped at his own cup, obviously enjoying it. "Never would have pegged you for a frou-frou kind of drink," Kurt commented, absently, taking another, slower sip. Then he realized exactly who he was potentially insulting and he ducked, instinctively.

Dave frowned, opened his mouth as if to answer, closed it again, and closed his eyes, lips moving silently.

He opened his eyes ten seconds later, and assayed a wan-sort of smile. "Like I said, they don't give you shit up in the psych ward, Hummel. I've had my fill of plain, bad coffee. I'm going straight mochas for a while, until I get that taste out of my mouth." He took another sip, but with much less enjoyment than he'd had.

"What was that you were doing just now?" Kurt heard his own mouth ask the question and desperately tried to claw the words back. Was he trying to get himself killed? _Karofsky _was the suicidal one, not Kurt!

But Dave, instead of getting angry, merely looked slightly embarrassed. "Anger management," he said, shortly. "One of the techniques they taught us."

"Count to ten?"

"Something like that."

They sipped in silence for a time, getting used to having the other sitting across from them. Finally, Kurt set down his cup.

"Look, Dave - what did you want to talk about? I'm here, this place is pretty empty," he wondered about that, it should be bursting at the seams, but only about half the tables had people around them, "so what's up?"

Karofsky swallowed his mouthful, setting the paper cup down, lifting it up, and setting it down again, in a different position, making interlocking rings of spilled coffee on the tabletop. "I - I need your help, Kurt," he said, at last.

"Help with what?" Kurt couldn't imagine what the big galoot thought _he _could do for him.

Dave drew his finger through the coffee-rings, drawing his own pattern. "How did you come out?" he asked. "You know, to… to your family, and friends and stuff?" His attention was intensely focused on the tabletop.

Kurt shrugged. "It was… it was a bit awkward," he admitted. "But Dad - he said he always knew. He was just waiting for me to figure it out."

"So… they accepted you? It wasn't hard for them?"

"It was odd - very awkward for me," Kurt said again. "But my dad just wondered why it had taken me so long to tell him."

Dave's shoulders sagged. "It's not going to be that easy with my dad," he muttered.

"You mean he doesn't know? You said you'd come out to your counselors, in therapy." And boy, did Kurt remember _that _conversation well. Dave had been a wreck, afterwards. The nurses had almost tried to bar Kurt from speaking with Dave, he'd been so emotionally labile.

"Yeah, I did. And _they_ know. The doctors. But Dad doesn't. Doctor-patient confidentiality, you know? And I'm eighteen, so he's got no legal right to demand information from them. And I kind of told them that he doesn't get a breath of - of this." He swept a hand gesture that took in, well, all of him, and all the emotional baggage that went with it. He looked distinctly unhappy.

Kurt reached out a hand, his slim fingers resting on Karofsky's thick wrist, making the bigger boy look up at him. "I was terrified to tell my dad, too," he admitted, slowly. "I thought I'd be disappointing him. But I wasn't. And I didn't. Maybe you're underestimating your dad?"

Dave shook his head and snorted. "You know what my dad says every time a gay guy shows up on his radar? And not just in real life, on TV, movies, anything." Kurt shook his head. "My dad says, 'Thank god you're not like that faggot, David. You've got good genes, clean genes. We're men, not weaklings.'" He spat the last word. "If I come out to my dad, I'm going to get disinherited, in the full Old World-flavor of the word. I'll be _Ivanhoe_, only without the knighthood to cushion the blow." At Kurt's raised eyebrow, Dave asked, "What? I read."

"Have you talked to your counselors about this?" he asked. He was vaguely aware that Dave had had mandatory counseling sessions as a condition of his release from the psych ward, though he wasn't sure of all the details.

But Dave shook his head. "No. The guy I'm assigned to - he doesn't really listen. It's like he's got this recipe in his head for how things are supposed to go - Guy attempts suicide, guy reveals his deep-dark secret, guy tells everybody deep-dark secret, everybody sighs and says, 'you're so brave!,' guy gets to live happy and fulfilled life, end of story. It's like he thinks we're characters on a TV show or something. Real life doesn't happen that way." He snorted his contempt, though whether it was for the man's wide-eyed optimism or for the psychiatric profession in general, Kurt wasn't sure.

"So what are you going to do?" Kurt asked, after a bit.

Dave looked down, at where Kurt's fingers were still resting on his wrist. He turned his hand over, so that Kurt's palm was resting against his. He curled the fingers up, just a little, just enough to cup the small hand in his. Kurt's eyes were riveted on that motion. "I don't know," Dave murmured. "But I was hoping… maybe… maybe you could help?"

Kurt could _feel_ the effort that went into those words. Dave Karofsky didn't ask for help. Never. That was part of what it meant, to be Dave Karofsky. And yet, here he was, _asking_. Twice, in fact.

He slowly flattened his palm against Dave's, then pulled his hand back gently, thwarting Dave's attempt to complete his capture. "This isn't a TV show, Dave," he said, the harsh words softened by his gentle tone and caring expression. "I know _why_ you did what you did to me, but I haven't gotten over it completely yet. I've got a boyfriend, and I'm happy with him. But," he said, overriding Dave's attempt to react, "I'll stand by you. I can't be your boyfriend, but I _will_ be your friend."

Dave's face was a picture of disappointment. Then a wan smile crossed his face. "I guess I've seen too many TV dramas, huh? Thanks, Hummel. Kurt. I appreciate it." He slugged down the rest of his coffee. Kurt sipped at the dregs of his, now cold from the long wait.

"How is it at McKinley?" Kurt asked, to fill the silence.

Dave shrugged. "Awkward. They all read the paper, every single one of 'em has heard rumors, or told rumors, or made up some story about why I did it." A grin tilted his features. "My favorite so far is that I was jilted by an alien lover who wouldn't take me aboard her UFO when she left to head back to Mars." Kurt smiled at that one. "So far, the 'Dave Karofsky is gay' talk is nothing but a dark little rumor that - as far as they're telling me, anyway, Azimio hasn't been talking to me much - hasn't made it much beyond the fringe groups." He cleared his throat, nervously. "Thanks for that, by the way. You really _haven't _told anyone."

"I don't rat out my friends," Kurt maintained, hotly, and Dave looked at him oddly. Kurt suddenly realized that he'd just called Dave his friend, for the first time. And dated it back to before that first, extremely memorable, kiss. It disturbed him. A lot.

Dave's lips twitched. "I never realized before how diverse that glee club of yours is. Football players, Cheerios, geeks. Those Asian guys, though what they say mostly stays within the ethnic boundaries. Rachel Berry and her big mouth. If you wanted to spread around a rumor, all you'd have to do is whisper to one of those guys and I'd be destroyed."

Kurt grinned. "Never thought of it that way before. Man, I wish I'd tried it back when I was at McKinley. Not you -" he hurried to assuage Dave's angry look. "But spreading rumors? That would have been fun. See where it goes and how it changes… What was the name of that alien lover of yours, again?"

Dave smiled back, a little wanly, but the warmth was there. He swirled his empty cup around idly. "Don't think I'm ready to come out yet," he said at last. "But I'm glad there's someone around here that I can talk to. Without having to make up some detail about the cheerleader I banged last night." He made a face and Kurt snorted a laugh.

They tossed their cups in the trash and headed out to face the cold. Kurt made a face, remembering he'd have to stand on the corner and wait for the bus. Dave hooked his thumb over his shoulder. "You got a ride? Because I've got my truck. I could give you a lift."

While Kurt was considering the offer, a blast of icy-cold wind cut through his jacket and straight into his flesh. "Sure," he said, decision made for him. "Thanks."

They made the ride in silence, all their words used up in the coffee shop, except for the occasional direction from Kurt. Dave pulled up in the driveway.

Kurt turned to him before stepping out. "Hey. Um. Good luck, alright?"

Dave's mouth quirked. "Thanks. You too, huh? I hear sectionals is coming up?"

"Regionals," Kurt corrected without thinking, then shot a piercing glance at the other boy.

"Regionals. Right."

Then Kurt was out of the car and Dave was backing up. Blue eyes met brown, until Dave smiled and broke the connection, driving off down the street.

Kurt took in a deep breath, the first one in minutes, and sagged. _Okay, what just happened?_ he wondered as he opened the door and let himself into the house.

He wasn't sure he knew.


	4. Disappointing

So. It's Christmas - or it was when I started writing this chapter, anyway. I'm screwing with my own timeline here and making this officially AU - like it wasn't already - at the same time. *shrugs* If you can't mess with your own fanfiction, what can you mess with, right? I can't guarantee when the next chapter is going up, given that I'm about to go under the knife very soon; and anything written under the influence of narcotic pain medication is bound to be so screwy as to be unusable. Or hilarious. I don't know, we'll see, won't we? That said, Merry Christmas, Happy New Year, and enjoy this next chapter!

_~~~~~glee~~~~~_

Kurt's heart was heavy in his chest as he dialed the number. "Blaine?"

"Merry Christmas!" His boyfriend greeted him enthusiastically. "Well, a day late, anyway. Sorry I couldn't talk yesterday; there's dead zones all over the mountain." Blaine's family had taken advantage of Dalton's extended Christmas vacation and gone on a ski trip to the Rocky Mountains. And not just to _one_ ski area, no. _Four._ Blaine had promised Kurt he'd bring back t-shirts. Kurt would have preferred to go along, if only to see his sweet singer more, like he'd originally been planning.

"It's okay," Kurt reassured him, thinking guiltily of the dozen text messages, half-dozen missed calls and, fairly, a restrained _two _voice messages he'd left on Blaine's cell phone. "Merry Christmas to you, too."

"Wish you were here - sorry, that sounds _so_ post-card-ish - but it's true. The skiing is _amazing_. Can you imagine a ski slope so long you run out of breath before you run out of mountain? And the chairlifts get you to the top in _ten minutes_. At these altitudes, that's amazing. Feels like you're flying, up _and_ down. I can't wait to show you my pictures - it'll take your breath away. And you _know_ how much I like to see you breathless..." He trailed off and Kurt knew he was smiling. Kurt himself was blushing furiously, glad he'd taken this call in his bedroom with the door shut firmly behind him.

"Truth to tell, though," Blaine went on, "I'm looking forward to getting back. I want at least a couple of days with you before Dalton gears back up and all our time is straight school again."

Kurt could have listened to him talk all day, but he couldn't stand to sit there so miserable and let Blaine go on without telling him the bad news. Besides, he wasn't going to get a better straight line than that. "Speaking of Straight School," he began, clearing his throat. Man, this was going to be harder than he'd thought. "I... there's something I need to tell you."

Blaine was instantly alerted by Kurt's unhappy tone. "Kurt? Baby, what's up?"

Kurt's face crumpled at the caring in his boyfriend's voice and he gripped his phone like a drowning man. "Oh, Blaine! I can't go back to Dalton next semester!"

~~~~glee~~~~

It had been pure accident that he'd found out. Burt and Carol had done a spectacular job of hiding their worries from him and Finn - not that Finn had even noticed that anything was amiss. Kurt at least had been aware of the tension, though not it's source.

Christmas day. The gifts were all unwrapped and the dinner eaten. Finn was busy avoiding Rachel, who was just as busy trying to win him back. Very determinedly. Very. Kurt had been just as glad to leave them to one another, preoccupied as he had been with trying to make his phone ring through sheer force of will.

Taking the theory that a watched phone never rang, but a silent phone might buzz if he distracted himself, he'd started cleaning up. To fool the phone, he stuck his earbuds in to make it look like he was ignoring it, but failed to hook it up to his ipod. _I'm not listening for my ringtone, really,_ he thought at the phone in his back pocket. _You can go ahead and ring now, because I'll never hear it. Guarantee you._

_Oh, man, I am _so_ desperate..._

He'd gotten the living room cleaned and was starting on the dining room when low, intense voices from his parents' bedroom caught his ear. Curious but cautious, he edged closer until he could hear words. "...have enough for next year. Not with the income we have now. Our savings are almost gone."

"Maybe we could mortgage the house...?"

The sense of a shaking head. "Bank won't agree to a third one. I could take out another loan against the garage..."

"On top of everything else? Burt, you _know_ we've exhausted that route. Your medical bills alone -"

"...I know. Did that scholarship stuff you were looking into pan out at all?"

A sigh. "_Next _year. Maybe. They said there was nothing they could do for us this semester - all of their available scholarship funds are pledged until June. And they won't even give us hardship consideration."

"What? I swear I saw that on the website -"

"It's for single parents. With us being married, Kurt no longer qualifies for that particular break. I talked with the financial advisor for an hour - he's done everything he can."

"We'll think of something. We have to."

Again, that sense of a head shaking in defeat. "What are we going to tell Kurt?"

Burt looked up sharply, and Kurt knew he'd been caught. _How does he do that? _he wondered, even as his father had said, quietly, "I think we just did."

~~~~~glee~~~~~

It was with great trepidation that Kurt reentered McKinley High on the first day back after Christmas vacation. He'd been assigned a new locker, and his schedule was all messed up. He felt like the new kid all over again, with all the old fears boiling through his belly on top of the new butterflies. The only good part of the day was the enthusiastic reception he got from glee club, with the single exception of the new girl they'd pulled in to replace him. _She_ merely grunted and asked if he'd brought any jujubes.

He didn't see Dave all day.

Or the next day, either, though he'd had to avoid Azimio by ducking into the bathroom.

By the third day, he was keeping his eye out for the big lug with more than an eye for ducking out of sight as soon as he was in view - he was starting to get worried. "Hey, Finn." He collared his step-brother at lunch. "Have you seen Karofsky at all?"

Finn glared down the hallway. "I'd better not," he muttered. "As soon as we knew you were coming back, Puck, Sam and I told him he'd better make himself scarce."

"Yeah," said Puck, coming up behind them. "Anyone else even _breathes_ wrong around you, they've got the New Directions to answer to."

Kurt's eyebrows drew down. "You threatened him?"

"Damn straight. No one messes with our boy."

Oh, boy. _I am so dead..._

Kurt gave a wan smile. "Thanks, guys."

~~~~glee~~~~

Dave simmered.

Who did Kurt think he was? He'd _hoped_ it would be different when the other boy came back. That he could just ignore him and be ignored in return.

Ha.

It wasn't enough that he'd been suspended. It wasn't enough that he'd been kicked off the football team. It wasn't enough that he'd become the laughing-stock of the school with his despair-driven suicide attempt. _Now_ Kurt had to make him cringe and crawl and pretend to be afraid of those loser punks in the singing club.

He wasn't really afraid. Not Dave Karofsky. Not of a bunch of losers who shamed all _real _men by prancing around on stage worrying about their clothes and carrying perfect pitch.

But.

He'd learned a few things in therapy. Anger management worked. It really did. He'd been resentful and resistant - still was, a lot of the time - but he was learning to think things through, to look at consequences, to not let his emotions, his anger, rule him.

So rather than thumb his nose at the glee-club losers, he stayed away. "I'm not going to let my stupid emotions be the boss of _me_," he muttered under his breath as he checked his schedule sheet and stalked into his next class. Still. It didn't seem fair that _his_ schedule had been screwed with, just so that he was nowhere near the Hummel kid. He'd _thought_ that he'd been reinstated in the school without prejudice, after that little suspension stint. And Figgins had emphasized that the schedule change wasn't a penalty, that many students had had their classes adjusted.

Again, ha.

But he hadn't complained to his dad. Paul Karofsky would just raise another big fuss, making Dave feel like an ugly damsel in distress, and he'd wind up wishing he'd never said a word. So he didn't. His counselor had been proud of him for thinking the situation through and making a "very adult decision."

The phrase nettled.

Dave had let it go, with only a slight glower.

And now, sitting down to listen to some substitute droning on in German, he sighed and let it go again. If Kurt didn't want to see him, he didn't want to see him.

He could have at _least_ have told Dave to his face though, instead of sending around his goon squad. Kurt had called him his friend. _I guess maybe he didn't mean it after all._

Dave shrugged to himself. He couldn't care in the least what that little pipsqueak thought.

Really.

"Herr Dave?"

Oh. Damn. Dave realized he'd been staring off into space and hadn't heard the question. He hazarded a guess. "Um... Glühbirne?"


	5. Determining

_So. ACL surgery. I thought I would be in major pain, under the constant influence of narcotics and enjoying a varied parade of amusing and artful hallucinations. My surgeon greatly disappointed me by doing such a darn good job that I've had virtually no pain and physical therapy is proceeding apace – I've advanced to about the week three goals in less than three _days_. Insane, isn't it?_

_Well, enough about me, y'all want to know about the story, I'm sure. Not entirely sure where this chapter sprang from, to be honest. I just started writing and it magically appeared. Those are my favorite chapters – discovery, not invention, pure creation. I think I can officially say that I will be concentrating more on Dave's and Kurt's friendship and their individual maturing and growth, rather than any sort of romance. It always bugs me that people think that the two main characters have to become romantically linked. Though I won't rule out some sort of love-relationship for either of the boys, either. Eventually, anyway. I would love your opinions on the subject – review, PM, or email me~_

_Warning: ahead be angst and suicidal ideation. I figure you wouldn't be reading this chapter without reading my 'Dying' chapter first (and this one is far less bloody), but I thought I ought to drop in a caution. I don't own Glee, don't own Simple Plan, don't own anything. Anyway, read, enjoy, and (as always) review!_

~~~~glee~~~~

Dave opened his front door quietly, looking around surreptitiously for his father and breathing a sigh of relief when he didn't see him. Making a pit stop by the kitchen, he grabbed an apple and a can of soda to augment the candy bar in his pocket before heading to his room.

He was just elbowing into his sanctum, popping the top on the can, when he heard a throat being cleared behind him. The big jock felt his stomach tighten up, and he turned to face judgment day.

"It's after curfew," his father greeted him.

"Only just," Dave defended himself, swallowing hard.

Paul Karofsky cocked an eyebrow, and Dave fought the urge to squirm. He'd had nightmares about that eyebrow when he was younger. It was the reason that his father never had to yell, never had to threaten, never had to get in his son's face. The eyebrow said it all. One quirk, and Dave could fill in the rest without the old man having to say a word.

"I'm sorry, Dad," he apologized. "I was… I lost track of the time." He'd been stalking Hummel, actually, waiting for him to get out of his glee club practice, and then tracking him, hoping to get him alone, away from that jerk of a step-brother of his. Hummel couldn't have put Finn up to that threatening bravado, he wouldn't have the guts. Hell, if Kurt hadn't done it back… well, before, he wouldn't have done it now, not when the two of them were on – relatively – good terms. He'd thought, anyway... But Kurt hadn't cooperated with Dave's plans, he'd never been alone for even a second. He'd gone to some foreign film with his gay boyfriend and they'd… _cuddled_. It had nearly made Dave sick to watch. Unbridled jealousy tended to do that to a fellow, he supposed… "It won't happen again."

Paul looked his son up and down again, and sighed, his shoulders sagging. "David… It's not the curfew, you know. You're a good kid, and I trust you to know what you're doing, to make good choices." He made a little abortive gesture, reaching out to touch his son's shoulder and then letting his hand fall back before he could actually make contact. Dave watched that hand, part of him longing more than anything for his dad to actually touch him, to show _him_ the tenderness he showed his sister. But he never did. Real men didn't touch other men that way. Not even when he had to be worried sick about Dave every time he came back late, thinking about the last time he hadn't come home, wondering... _Sorry, sorry._

"You never talk to us anymore," Paul said, quietly. "You mother and I are worried about you. You never used to get in trouble like this; what's happened, son?"

His father's eyes echoed his hurt, looking so much like they had that day in the hospital, after his almost-successful suicide attempt, that Dave had to force himself to swallow. "I'm sorry, Dad," he said again. "I'll try harder." _Harder to do what? _He didn't know.

He was pretty sure his father didn't know either, but the elder Karofsky let it go with a sigh. "Home right away after school tomorrow," he said, and Dave nodded. It was the standard punishment for breaking curfew. Normally he would have argued, but… not tonight.

Once inside the room, his snack set on his desk and his computer's media player on for background noise, Dave folded himself into his padded office chair. His father's face was haunting him. He'd been… damn. The man had been brittle, ever since his son's hospitalization. He _still _didn't know the whole story behind Dave driving himself up to that ridge that night. The slightest thing could set his dad off, and more and more, it was Dave that did it. He couldn't stand it, that look of hopeless worry in his eyes.

Dave pulled his desk drawer out, then further out, pressing the catch that released the false back. It was crude, but it worked as a hiding place. Dave had built it himself, and was rather proud of it. Even better, no one else knew about it.

He turned the knife over in his hands. It was good make, a six inch stainless steel blade that folded back into an intricately-detailed handle made of some metal that looked like gold but was probably brass. His fingertips played over the design, tracing the Celtic-knot-style dragon imprinted there, caressing it. His grandfather had given him this knife, and he'd been glad he'd had it hidden when his parents had made their pre-psych-ward-release weapons-search through his room. He'd have hated to have thought of this beauty rusting in some plastic bag somewhere.

Pulling out a soft square of cloth, he flipped the blade open and started polishing its already mirror-brightness to an even greater shine. It was soothing, familiar work. He'd done this a lot lately. It focused him like few other things could.

He negotiated carefully around the sharp edge, lightly pressing his thumb to it, testing its sharpness. He loved his grandfather, but the man didn't know much about taking care of knives. He'd filed it on one side only, creating an actual – if minute – curve to the edge, blunting it. Dave had spent many long nights methodically encouraging the steel back to its intended razor sharpness. From the deep line left across the pad of his thumb, he figured it was in excellent condition, and he nodded his satisfaction.

Letting the knife drift a few inches, he pressed it against the inside of his wrist, just above the angry red scar that marred his skin there. In unthinking fascination, he adjusted the angle of the blade, catching the light, sending diamond sparkles across his face. He pressed slightly harder, the skin of his wrist flexing inward, growing white until he suddenly pulled back, releasing the pressure. A faint line, parallel to his scars, glared redly up at him.

Dave shut the knife hastily, heart thumping at what he'd nearly done. Not again. Never again. He couldn't do that to his father. God, the old man would probably be the one to find him, wouldn't he, called in to break down the door. No. No suicide. No ideation. No. _I'm sorry, Dad._

He fingered his phone. His therapist had given him an emergency number to call if he ever had any troubles he couldn't deal with on his own, but he'd never used it. This wasn't even the worst he'd been. He'd get through this on his own. He always did.

He jumped when his phone rang, nearly dropping it in his alarm. It rang a second time. He checked the readout.

And nearly dropped it again in his haste to pick up. "Kurt?"

The voice on the other end was, indeed, Hummel's. "I think we need to talk, Dave," he said without preamble.

Dave pulled the phone away from his ear, staring at it. Kurt was _never_ this forthright. Except for that one time when he'd confronted Dave… and Dave had… and then… "I think so, too," he said, gruffness suffusing his voice. He suddenly remembered how annoyed he was with the other boy. "What's the deal, siccing your glee-goons on me, huh?"

Kurt's voice sounded put-out. "I never asked them to. And I'm setting them straight as soon as I can figure out how – Finn doesn't exactly listen to me, you know. I just wanted you to know that none of _that_ was my idea."

A sour taste flooded Dave's mouth. "You couldn't just tell them that we're cool now? They ought to believe you."

A snort. "They're feeling distinctly guilty for ignoring your issue with me when it actually _was_ a problem. I don't think I'll be disengaging them from their delusions of knights-errant anytime soon." A pause. "It might help if you stopped slinking around after me, you know."

Dave spluttered. "You _know_ about that?"

He got the sense of Kurt rolling his eyes. "You're about as subtle as a sledgehammer. It was hard to avoid noticing you."

"Then why didn't you talk to me?" Dave demanded.

"In front of witnesses? You weren't exactly looking like you were in full command of your faculties, Dave. And I didn't think you were ready to come out yet…?"

Dave recoiled from the idea. Yes, and what _would _it have looked like to bystanders if he had grabbed Kurt and hauled him into the nearest bathroom for an intense, private chat? He was suddenly grateful that _one_ of them had a working brain. He grunted grudging agreement. "Well… thanks. I guess."

"You're welcome." Kurt sounded amused. "So, have we covered everything you wanted to talk about?"

No. Not even half of it. But if Kurt was working on his glee-goons… Well, that was the main part of it, wasn't it?

His pause must have said what his mouth couldn't, though, because instead of hanging up, Kurt sighed. "It's still pretty tough on you, isn't it?" he asked, wearily.

Dave found himself nodding. "Yeah. More than I ever thought possible."

"Pick an issue. What's most on your mind?"

Dave blinked. "What is this, therapy?"

"I used to watch Dr. Phil. Work with me here. Which issue is most on your mind right now?"

_You want 'em chronologically or in alphabetical order?_ His computer's media player switched songs, and Dave closed his eyes, recognizing the song. "You ever heard Simple Plan?" he asked, naming a band. Kurt murmured affirmation, and Dave's mouth quirked. "That song of theirs, 'Perfect?'"

"Sounds…familiar," Kurt said, cautiously. "Sing a few lines?" he asked.

Dave felt himself flushing. "My voice isn't too good," he muttered, but Kurt encouraged him. Finally, "Oh, alright, fine."

With a deep breath, he launched into the part that was playing. "'I just want to make you proud; I'm never gonna be good enough for you. I can't stand another fight. And nothing' alright, cuz we've lost it all, nothing lasts forever, I'm sorry I can't be perfect.'"

There was silence from the other end. Dave shifted uncomfortably, embarrassed. He'd just sung a _song_ to a _guy_ over the _phone._ Damn Kurt for talking him into this… "That's the one with a kid apologizing to his dad for not living up to his dad's ideal, isn't it?" Kurt's quiet voice cut through his seething. "Appropriate, I think. It's amazing how songs tend to say what you want to, even when we don't know ourselves, isn't it?"

Dave sighed. Glee-club. Right. Kurt probably _dreamed_ in music videos. "Yeah. And yeah."

"Your dad's giving you trouble?"

Dave rubbed the bridge of his nose. "No. Yes. I don't – it's like the song said. He doesn't _see_ me, and I don't know how to _get_ him to see me without disappointing the hell out of him."

"But you _do_ want him to see you?"

The quiet question caught him off guard. _Huh? _When had _that_ shift happened? From denial to concealment to…revelation? Dave studied his own feelings with a bit of trepidation. How odd. It's not like he wanted to run out right now and announce his sexual orientation to his parents on the spot, but… now, he could sort of, maybe, possibly, see himself telling them, one day. Eventually.

"Thanks, Kurt," he murmured, quietly. "I think… I'm going to have to think about this, some more."

Kurt's smile was evident in his voice. "Call me anytime you need to talk, Dave. And I'll get on Finn, I promise." A pause. "You know… you really aren't that bad of a singer. Pretty good, actually. If untrained."

Dave blinked. Huh? But Kurt was already saying his goodbyes and hanging up, leaving David Karofsky alone with a brain full of thoughts and a swirling tornado of questions.

He caressed his grandfather's knife one last time before closing it up and sticking it back in its hiding spot. He fitted the false back in place, then took a pencil and jammed the catch, irreparably mangling it.

He surveyed the job with an air of satisfaction. He'd retrieve the knife later; in, say, a year or so. Right now, he didn't need the temptation.

And, he was gratified to find, he didn't want it, either.


	6. Devastating

_Yup. Don't own Glee._

_Man… I _hate_ doing this to Blaine… but there's no way to get out of it if I'm going to keep things going where I want them to. Sorry to all those who like Darren Criss' Blaine, and I hope you enjoy this chapter! Thanks to everyone who has read, reviewed, favorited, and alerted my humble little story. Y'all are the _best!

* * *

"Finn," Kurt addressed his stepbrother. "Can I have a word with you?"

"Sure." Finn put down his pencil. "I wasn't making much headway anyway. What can I do you for?"

Hoo-boy, how to phrase this? Probably have to go the direct route, Finn just didn't get it any other way. "Lay off of D- Karofsky, okay? He's not bugging anybody, least of all me, and he doesn't deserve to be intimidated."

Finn protested, naturally. "He threatened to _kill you_," he reminded Kurt, "in case you've forgotten. I screwed up last semester, but _nobody_ is going to get to you this time. You have my word on that, bro." He hesitated, before reaching out and clapping a brotherly hand to Kurt's shoulder. "I love you, man. You know that, right?"

A wry smile crossed his face. Just the words he'd wanted to hear, though they were now two years and a lifetime too late. But he knew what Finn meant, and he took it that way. "Yeah. You too, Finn. Just… Karofsky's not going to be an issue this year. He's… he's changed a lot."

"He's still wound tighter than a spring," Finn argued. "Who knows when he'll break and who he'll take out when he does?"

"Likely just himself," Kurt murmured.

Finn's ears perked. "You know something I don't?"

_A lot. _"Dave Karofsky is fighting his own demons right now," Kurt told him. "He and I have come to our own understanding."

The quarterback nodded slowly, though what he got from that cryptic statement, Kurt couldn't begin to guess. "But this is _Karofsky_ we're talking about, Kurt," he protested. "There's stuff that went on between the two of you that you're not telling anyone." Kurt flushed, remembering the kiss and wondered how his dunce of a stepbrother had noticed that he'd been holding something back. "I'm not leaving you open to that sort of thing again."

Kurt swallowed hard, throat suddenly tight. So _this_ is what it was like to have a brother, a guy who always had your back. It felt… it was staggering.

But still… "Thanks, Finn," he said, voice slightly choked despite his best efforts. "But… I don't want my brother to become like my enemy, just to try to protect me from him. You've got him as scared as I was, looking over his shoulder, flinching whenever he sees a letter jacket." Well, Karofsky hadn't actually _said_ that, but Kurt figured it was a good guess. "He didn't slit his wrist for nothing, you know. He's pretty messed up. Still. I don't want you guys to be the reason his dad has to call the cops to break down his door. He's… not exactly the most stable right now." Kurt belatedly realized that maybe he was spilling too much, telling Finn something that might get spread around glee club and then to the whole school, but it was too late now.

A confused look crossed Finn's face, replaced by a thoughtful expression. "I guess…" He looked down at his book, then back up. "I'll talk to the guys. We won't bust on Karofsky. But we won't stop watching him, either. He's not going to get a second chance to make your life hell, Kurt. I promise."

Kurt sighed. It was the best promise he was going to get, and it came a lot easier than he'd thought. He smiled. "Thanks, Finn. I knew I could count on you guys." _This time, anyway. _

Finn grinned back. Then his face sobered and he leaned in, conspiratorially. "I never thought to ask before," he said in a low voice, "but what _did_ make Karofsky… you know." He mimed drawing a knife across his wrist.

Just when he thought his stepbrother _might_ be maturing a little bit… Kurt leaned in, mimicking his posture. "He got dumped," he whispered. "His Martian lover got miffed that he wouldn't board the spaceship and head back to Mars to meet the parents."

He grinned, and Finn grinned back. It was kind of stretched. "Not gonna tell me, are ya?"

Kurt shrugged. "I just found the guy. It's not like he was going to pour out his heart to me while we were waiting for the ambulance."

Finn's lip twitched, and he rolled his eyes. "Alright, alright, I got it. I'll grab the guys before school tomorrow. We'll watch, but no more interfering."

"_Thank_ you," Kurt said, and Finn picked up his pencil. "The answer to question six is 'metamorphosis,' by the way."

"Really?" Finn looked down at his homework paper, scrubbed out his answer, and wrote down Kurt's. "Thanks."

~~~glee~~~

Humming under his breath, Kurt passed his bouquet from one hand to the other. Blaine's birthday was this weekend and he was going to the party, but he wanted to surprise his boyfriend today. Just to let him know that he was thinking about him, as always. He grinned like he usually did, thinking about Blaine. He truly was the best thing that had happened in Kurt's life so far.

He nodded cordially to some of the Dalton boys, Mike and Wes, friends from the Warblers. He didn't go to the fancy prep school anymore, but he knew his way around. Mostly…

"Hey," he stopped the pair. "Do you know where Blaine is? I can't find him anywhere." He'd looked everywhere, in fact, all his usual places. His boyfriend was nowhere to be found.

The two boys looked at one another, then at Kurt. "Kurt. What are you doing here? I thought you went back to that public school…?" Mike led.

"I'm allowed to visit my boyfriend. Especially on his birthday. Why? Where is he?" Kurt clutched the brightly-colored flowers tighter. Mike and Wes looked at each other again, a whole conversation bouncing between their eyes. Kurt watched, nervously. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. "Mike? Wes? What is it?"

Wes looked at him, sympathy in his eyes. "I like you Kurt. So believe me when I say, go home. You don't want to be here."

"…what?"

"Go home, Kurt."

Over Wes' shoulder, a motion caught Kurt's eye. A familiar, tall profile exiting a classroom. "…Blaine?"

"…Kurt?" Instead of looking happy to see his boyfriend, the soloist's expression was deer-in-the-headlights-trapped. "What are you doing here?"

"Blaine?" A thoroughly-mussed looking boy who Kurt didn't know came up behind Blaine, wrapping his hand around his bicep and standing close to him. Possessed, and possessing. "What's going on?"

Nerveless fingers lost their grip on the bouquet and the blossoms hit the marble floor with a rustling thump. "Blaine? What is this?"

Blaine looked stricken. "Kurt? This is… I don't… I can explain…" The unknown boy touched Blaine's neck, in exactly the place that Blaine liked to be kissed, a place that Kurt himself had only recently discovered, and Blaine turned his face down to meet the eyes of his… his _partner_. Kurt recognized him now. _Percy_. Spoiled, rich, a playboy member of the upper classes, who took and discarded people like toys. And Blaine had obviously just been collected.

"You don't need to explain," Kurt snapped, coldly. "I can see perfectly well for myself."

"Kurt!" Blaine called after him, but the contralto didn't turn back, stalking away, spine stiffened with rage, eyes brimming with hurt.

"…Kurt!"

The voice bounced off the walls, but Kurt ignored him. That echo belonged to the world of the rich. And Kurt was only a visitor there.

As he would always be.

~~~~glee~~~~

"…can't _believe_ I _fell_ for it!" Kurt hissed again. Mercedes nodded, touching his back consolingly. Again. "Blaine was never any different. Oh, I thought he was, _he_ thought he was, but they're all the same! Spoiled little rich brats who never give a damn about anybody else, about the promises they make. I should have _known_ it was only a matter of time before he showed his true colors! He – _rrrgh!_" He banged his fist against the lunch table where they were sitting.

"Hey, don't worry about that turn-coat," Mercedes soothed him. "He ain't worth your time. Or your pain. You just put that jerk out of your head."

Kurt bit back a sob, burying his head in the safe cave of his crossed arms, and Mercedes barely kept herself from rolling her eyes. This was the _bad_ part about having a drama queen for a friend.

"I just… I really thought he was for real, you know? I wanted so bad for it to be real… High school sweethearts…"

"It'll happen again, Kurt. It _will_. You'll find the right guy for you, I _know_ it. Cuz the world wouldn't be so unjust that a sweet guy like you would never find someone real. He's out there, Kurt. You just have to believe it."

Kurt sniffed, raising red-rimmed eyes. "You really think so?"

She handed him a tissue. "Sure as my name's Mercedes. You rock, Kurt. And you're going to net you a guy who rocks just as hard."

He wiped his eyes and blew his nose, gratefully. "Thanks, 'Cedes. You're the best."

The black girl grinned at him. "You know it, white-boy. Now come on, we're gonna be late to class."

Preoccupied as she was with extracting her book bag from under the table, she didn't notice David Karofsky staring across the lunch room at them.

Nor did she see Kurt, staring back.


	7. Disgusting

_In a beautifully perfect world, I would own Glee. And therefore know what comes next and not have to wait for the next episode to come out. *sigh* It isn't and I don't, so this will have to do in the meantime. I also don't own _Wicked_ or _Moulin Rouge_, in ANY form. Wish I did. Then I could shake Idina Menzel by the hand personally and not have to write her (sort of…) into my fics. _

_Curious how the realm of inspiration works, isn't it? I had the next chapter all written and ready to go when my muse thwapped me over the head and said, 'You can't go there yet! What about this little scene?' and handed this piece to me. What can I say? I have to keep my muse happy. And y'all are the ones that benefit, so it's good tidings all around. Hope you enjoy! _

* * *

"Kurt!" Finn grabbed his stepbrother by the elbow and steered him into an empty classroom. "You gotta help me."

Finn's eyes were as round as saucers and halfway to being bugged. Kurt instantly knew that it had to be something serious. "Finn? What is it?" A dagger twisted in his gut. "Is it my- is it Dad?" _Another heart attack? Oh, God, no… _

Finn nodded. "And Mom, too. They're…" He squeezed his eyes shut for a brief moment, as if seeking courage. "They've… Mom and I used to have this family tradition, where we went out to the movies on the first Saturday of the month, just us. We haven't been doing it since she and Burt got married, but now…" He swallowed. "Now they want to start it up again. Only, they want _all_ of us to go. _Together_."

Kurt blew out a breath. Okay. Just Finn being stupid and dramatic. Nothing unusual about that. Dad was okay. "Well, I don't see what's so bad about that," he said. "Movies are fun."

Finn shook his head. "You don't get it. They want to go. Together. With us there to watch. Do you know what people _do_ at the movies? In the dark? And besides, they've already chosen the film – some musical chick-flick."

"So? I like chick-flicks. And we both like musicals. I don't see the problem."

"Burt already said he doesn't intend to pay too much attention to the film," Finn said, bluntly. "And Mom _giggled_." At Kurt's blank look, Finn rolled his eyes. "They're going to make out, Kurt. And we're going to be there _watching_."

"Oh."

"'Oh'? Is that all you can say?"

Kurt's brain was hurting. Sure, living with the two newlyweds had been an exercise in gag-reflex control – Kurt had used to think himself quite cosmopolitan, but when your own _father_ was one of the principles, it took some getting used to – but now they wanted to include the boys on their date? "Is there any way we can get out of it?" he asked, somewhat desperately.

Finn shook his head. "Burt already gave me the 'traditions' speech, and Mom was there to back him up all the way. I was thinking if we both got tossed in detention, we'd _have_ to skip. Got any good prank ideas?"

Oh, yeah. The traditions speech. Last heard when Kurt was trying to get out of Friday night dinners. With that horribly terrifying aftermath, when Kurt was afraid he'd never see his father awake again… "Saturday night at the movies?" he said, weakly. "I think we can survive it. What time, again?"

~~~glee~~~

Burt and Carol insisted that they sit together as a family. But as soon as they became enmeshed in… well, not the story… Finn made a break for it and snagged a seat up front. Kurt made an excuse about needing to use the restroom – not that either parent was paying much attention at the moment – and upon return managed to find an empty seat near the back.

As he arranged himself more comfortably, he happened to glance down the row. And who should he see but Dave! The big jock was tapping his foot to the musical number currently playing and nodding along to the music, seeming to enjoy it in spite of himself.

With a glance around the mostly-empty theater, Kurt slid over next to him. "Hey," he whispered, by way of greeting.

Dave looked startled. "Hey." He glanced around. "What are you doing here?"

Kurt nodded down at his parents. "Chaperoning," he quipped. "Not that I'm doing such a great job. You?"

"Same." Dave pointed out a young couple just a few rows ahead of them. "My sister's only thirteen, so my folks said she had to have somebody 'responsible' along. Not that her date's tried anything. So far, they've sputtered out at holding hands."

Kurt chuckled, and the conversation died for a bit while they both sat back and ignored their respective charges, engrossed in the movie.

The next musical number came on and Kurt began humming along under his breath. Gradually, he realized that Dave was humming too. No, actually… he was singing, very silently, more like just mouthing the words along with the actors. "You know this one?" he asked.

Caught, Dave flushed. But he admitted, "Yeah. One of my favorite Broadway musicals. I love YouTube, you know that? If you're lucky – and someone's been larcenous enough – you can watch almost the entire musical."

Kurt grinned. "Yeah. I've got the entire _Wicked_ play bookmarked that way."

"You like _Wicked_, too? It's ironic, but I swear I keep spotting Glinda and Elphaba popping up around here. That one chick – whatshername, Rachel Berry's mom? Looks exactly like Elphie." Kurt looked at him strangely. "Or not," Dave conceded, hastily. "I mean, I'm just saying… So, what's your favorite musical?"

Kurt allowed the change of subject. "I've got a lot of them," he said, "But _Moulin Rouge _has got to be at the top."

"Really?" Dave's mouth twisted.

"What's not to like? I admit I've only ever seen it on DVD and not live, but you've got to admit, Ewan McGregor and Nicole Kidman did an awesome job of it."

A light bulb dawned in Dave's eyes. "O-o-oh. _That_ one. Yeah, they did do a good job."

Kurt grinned. "My favorite part is at the end, when Christian is stalking off in the middle of the play and Satine starts singing their song after him…"

"And he stops and starts singing it with her."

"Totally romantic."

"Indeed."

Kurt sighed and even Dave vented a faint puff of breath. They looked at each other, smiled, and then faced front and the movie.

Down below them, Dave's sister finally got tired of waiting for her date to make the first move and leaned in to plant a kiss on his cheek… only, being inexperienced, she missed and caught his ear. He looked at her, smiled, and they tried again, with much more success this time. Carol and Burt took a break, snuggling one another and looking blissful even from behind. And Finn ducked out the exit door, fleeing from a frustrated-looking Rachel.

Kurt tipped his head. You know, her profile _did_ look a bit like Elphaba's, at this angle… Nah, must be a coincidence.

He sat back and proceeded to enjoy the rest of the movie.


	8. Degenerating

_I don't own 'Glee.' I really wish I could say I didn't own this dream, but, alas, that one I do. Make of it what you will; I maintain that I was just high on cold medicine at the time. Still, it was too cool _not_ to use. _

_Okay, this is gonna be a bit screwy, but bear with me. Again, I have to extend my apologies to my audience, in this case, particularly Karofsky lovers. This was a frickin' _hard_ chapter to write! Don't hate me too bad, it'll all turn out okay in the end. I'm a sap for a happy ending. _

_Thanks to all my readers, and all my reviewers! Can you believe that this one, simple story has logged over 3,500 hits and 1,100 visitors this month alone? I'm utterly staggered! And completely humbled. This one is for you, all of you. You keep me going! _

* * *

Dave woke up, sweating. He'd had the Dream again. Capital 'D,' _way_ different than all the lesser, lower-case 'd's out there. The big one.

The beginning was always different; or at least, the part where he started remembering it was. Always. Sometimes he'd be at school. Sometimes at home, or in some random building that he knew but didn't. Occasionally it started on the football field. Once – and only once, and he firmly believed it was because he'd eaten three chocolate bars before bed because no _way_ was his mind that screwy on its own – he'd found himself on a pirate ship moored in an African version of Atlantis.

He couldn't remember where it had started this time, but that wasn't important. The setting never was. The scenery just shifted around on him so he couldn't recognize it in time to stop it, to wake up.

A man approached. A man always approached. Even when it looked like something else, like a child or a woman or a goat or a tree, Dave knew it was a man, in that curious knowledge that belongs only to dreamers. The man held out his hand (or paw, or fin, or rootling), and bade Dave to take it, to touch his fingers and fly.

Dave wanted to. He wanted to so badly. But he couldn't. He wouldn't. To fly is to fall, and Dave refused to fall. He walked away, leaving the man (or the dog or the deer or the yeti) behind him. Turned his back on him, and followed the road.

Because there was always a road. Right through the middle of whatever scenery his mind had populated the dream with, there was always a broad, wide avenue paved with bricks and beckoning him onward. He stepped onto the road, always, always, and it grabbed his feet and would not let him stop walking, would not let him leave. The man always looked at him sadly as he trudged past, but he would not follow.

On and on and on Dave's dream-self walked, until the road was as wide as a river, as an ocean. Still he walked and walked and walked, until he came at last to a door, as big as the sky and bright as the sun until it opened on black nothingness, a whirling, sucking hole that dragged even light into its embrace and would not let it go. Dave struggled then, as he had not struggled during his eons-long hike, struggled to stop, to turn his feet, to run away, to flee. But the hole had him. It had his body and it made him keep walking, walking, walking, until he had walked right over the edge and plunged down, down, down… The light that had been captured was crushed and warped by the sheer gravity of the black hole, condensing it all into blazing heat but without the intense flame that a conflagration of that size ought to have. His body twisted and warped, dried and burned and wiped out in an instant and Dave screamed with the last molecules of air left in the last molecules of his lungs…

And awoke.

Breathing hard, he looked over at the clock. 5:15. Too late to go back to sleep – even assuming he could, after that nightmare – and too early to wake the family up by showering.

Damn it.

Lying there in sweat-soaked sheets, staring at the ceiling, creepily illuminated by the glowing green of his alarm clock, Dave passed his hand across his eyes. _I have _got_ to find some way to get rid of that dream_, he thought, not for the first time.

Well. Since he wasn't going to get any more sleep, he might as well get up.

But only as far as his computer. He would kill some time surfing the net, then get ready for school. He messed around on a couple of his favorite sites, but nothing kept his interest. Mentally shrugging, he called up Google, typed in his own name, and hit enter. It was good for a laugh, anyway.

His facebook page was the first hit, followed by a few links to the local newspaper (Now Online!). He skipped those. He really _didn't_ need to read about the "Local Teen Found by Classmate." And reading about past successes on the football field was just painful.

He was about to give the whole thing up as a bad job when his eye fell on another site, a blog from the look of it. Curious, he clicked the link and started reading.

"What the hell…?"

…_David Karofsky, the former terror of the halls of McKinley High School here in Lima, Ohio, has been completely ball-busted. Sacked from the football team, his expulsion repealed on the word – or threat? of daddy-dearest, and_ then_ he's unhinged enough to attempt suicide! Well, like everything else in his life, Dave Karofsky is a failure at that, too, unable to do more than get himself a quick trip to the psycho ward. Now he's back in school and so pussy-whipped he's been doing nothing more than skulking around, hiding from the real men. Hah! Even prissy Kurt Hummel could beat this big weakling now; rumor has it, he already has! This blogger has it directly from sources in the know that Dave Karofsky is, in fact, gay, and that he loves playing with dolls and dressing up in drag. What's next? Who knows! Stay tuned, and we'll all find out! _

_Ta,_

_Jacob Ben-Israel_

"What the fu…?" 'Sources in the know'? 'Real men'? 'Failure'? 'Pussy-whipped'? Oh, fur-head was going down, he was going down hard. Dave Karofsky was back, and with a vengeance. Ben-Israel would learn the meaning of pain for this.

But another, sicker feeling churned in his gut. Who'd blabbed? No one knew his secret.

…No one but Kurt…

~~~glee~~~

But there was no sign of Jacob Ben-Israel at school that morning. A few intimidating inquiries – and he'd been pleased to note that he hadn't lost his touch, he could still glare the freshmen into wetting their pants – had ended up confirming that the creepy geek was out sick today. He'd slammed his fist into the wall in frustration. Still, there was always the phone book. He could hunt Ben-Israel down at his leisure, after school, and without prying eyes to report back to Figgins. It was a plan. It still made him sick every time he thought about that blog, but, he swore, Ben-Israel was going to pay.

End of fourth period and time for lunch. Dave stopped by his locker long enough to stash his books and pick up his wallet, intending to get straight over to the cafeteria – it was pizza today, and the crummy version that the school system served was lousy unless you got one of the first slices. And Dave Karofsky wasn't about to let himself get served crummy pizza.

A muffled cry grabbed his attention. Uneasily, he shoved his notebook atop the rest of his books, moving slower, making no noise. The cry repeated itself, and Dave's head swiveled, looking for the source. None of the other kids in the hallway noticed, or if they did, they were ignoring it.

And no wonder. The sound was coming from the bathroom. Nicknamed 'Bully's Alley,' no one went in there who had any sort of bodily function on their mind. Dave Karofsky had spent a good lot of time in there, himself. Stuffing Ben-Israel's head in the toilet and giving the flusher a good pull had always been good for a laugh.

His lip curled, and his decision was made for him. Whoever had whatever geek in there, that geek was about to get a hefty dose of Karofsky. Let them say that Dave was pussy-whipped, then! He was _done_ skulking! Time to get his rep back, he'd been licking his wounds long enough!

The door bounced off the wall as he barged in, slamming back into place with a hollow _thud_. Azimio glanced over, surprise replacing the annoyed look on his face. The expression was swiftly followed by veiled suspicion.

"Dave. What are you doing here?"

"Came to see if you needed a hand," Dave replied, swaggering over. "Which idiot have you got this time?"

Azimio shifted, hauling a cringing figure forward. "Just the little faggot. You want a turn?" He jerked his head towards the sinks, where two full slushies stood waiting.

Karofsky stopped, horrified. Kurt. Azimio had grabbed _Kurt_. How had he gotten past the glee-goons? Why hadn't they been protecting him?

_Because they weren't protecting _him_. They were watching _me.

The thought made his sick to his stomach.

But Azimio was watching him. Gauging him, judging him. What Dave did in the next thirty seconds would cement his reputation either way, someone to be feared or someone to scorn. _A bully or a fag_… his inner voice whispered. And, damn it, he'd done it to himself.

Kurt's eyes rose to meet his. Red-rimmed, scared, begging for mercy. "Dave," he croaked. "Please, don't…" His hand reached out, pleading, _take me away, make it stop._

"'Dave, stop'," Azimio mocked. "Do it already. You a fag-lover or what?"

That did it. "Hell, no," Dave growled. "Gimme." Not waiting, he wrenched Kurt's collar free from Azimio's grip and hauled the smaller boy up. The footballer handed him the first cup, and Dave dumped it, straw and all, down the back of his shirt, dribbling down into his designer jeans. Kurt flinched and gasped. Azimio handed him the second cup, a grin on his face. "Welcome back, Karofsky," he said, clapping him on the shoulder with a free hand.

Dave froze. What was he doing? Kurt's face was inches from his own, his eyes no longer terrified, but deeply, deeply hurt.

But Azimio's eyes were on him too, watching.

Dave upended the slushie, not on Kurt, but into his open backpack. "Get lost, loser," he said softly, releasing him.

With a sob, Kurt grabbed his syrupy backpack and ran.

Azimio clapped him on the shoulder. "Nice touch, there, my man. Glad to see you're still the same old Karofsky."

"Yeah," Dave managed to choke out. "The same old Karofsky."

God, he hated himself.


	9. Disclosing

_Yay! It's opposite day! I hereby claim Glee for my very own! Will that work? No?_ _Didn't think so… _

_Oh. My. Word. You know how sometimes you're watching a movie that was made a while ago and you suddenly choke because you recognize an actor that's only recently become well-known? Well, I just had one of those moments. Disney's _Once Upon a Mattress_ costars one Matthew Morrison – the actor who plays Will Schuester – as a young knight - Sir Harry the Immaculate._ _Weird, huh?_

_All random musings aside, I have to extend a special Thank You to for her comment about Dave's younger sister. That review sparked Karis into being, and she thanks you from the bottom of her newly-written heart._

* * *

"I knew you weren't queer." Azimio wiped a splash of tomato sauce off his chin as he reached for his carton of milk.

Dave poked at his slice, too sick to his stomach to eat. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Azimio continued, oblivious to Karofsky's quelling tone. "Though you didn't make it easy. I mean, damn it, you were slinking around like a pussy for months. I'd expected you to come back more bluster and swagger than ever. Even _I _was starting to believe it when people said you were gay. I _defended_ you, man. 'No way is he-man Karofsky on the faggot-train,' I told 'em. Glad to see you prove me right."

_Then where were you when I needed a friend? If we're such good buddies, how is it that _Kurt_ was the one who visited me in the hospital, that _Kurt_ is the one that saved my life, that it never mattered to _Kurt_ how down-and-out I was? How come I had to become the worst part of myself before _you_ ever said a word to me? _"Yeah. Thanks… You know what, Z? I'm just not feelin' it right now. I gotta go clear my head. See you around." He rose.

Azimio waved, the half-eaten slice of pizza in his hand, sending little globules of sauce flying. One of the girls he hit turned around and glared at the pair. Azimio ignored her. "See you later, man."

~~~glee~~~

He stared out the windows at the trees. Little kids, they drew trees like big green marshmallows on sticks. He could use some of those right now. Well, not the marshmallows, so much, but the sticks… He really felt like hitting something right now, wailing on it until he collapsed in a shivering puddle of sweat and tears.

_Kurt didn't rat me out._

He knew that. If he'd stopped for thirty consecutive seconds and actually _used _the brain he'd been born with, he would have realized it. Kurt was the _only _person he could trust with his secret. And what's more, he knew that, even now, Kurt wouldn't tell. It wasn't in his character.

He huffed, smacking the steering wheel. _I am _such _an asshole. _

What's more, he had no idea how to go about making things right.

Well… maybe, possibly, yes he did.

The thought scared the hell out of him. It would mean the end of everything. His life as he knew it. His family. His reputation. His friends – what few he had. Azimio… oh, screw Azimio. Dave hated the person he was around him, hated who he became in his company. _I may be a tough guy,_ Dave thought, _but that doesn't have to make me a bully. I'm better than that._

But, oh God hear my prayer, this was going to hurt…

He turned the engine over and kicked the truck into reverse. It was only at that moment that he realized that he'd been parked in the exact place where he'd tried to kill himself, the place where Kurt had saved his life.

Apropos, then, that here would be the place he would make the decision to set his life straight.

Or not, as the case may be.

~~~glee~~~

"Dad," Dave said.

His father looked up from his book. "Yeah?"

"Can I talk to you for a minute?"

Something in Dave's expression must have alerted Paul to his son's seriousness. "Sure. Come in, close the door." He shut his book on his finger, marking his place.

Dave stepped inside the library _cum_ study, his father's haven and one of Dave's favorite places as a child. The smell of paper and ink and leather was balm to him, and his racing heart slowed just a bit as he breathed in the comforting odor. He sank into one of the overstuffed, green leather chairs, across from his father, who sat at his ease in the other. Dave was too tense to sprawl like he usually did, and instead just perched on the edge. Finally understanding the gravity of the situation, the elder Karofsky picked up a piece of paper from nearby – it looked like a bill, Dave hoped his father wouldn't forget it later – and tucked it between the pages of his book as a bookmark, setting the novel aside and giving Dave his full attention. "Dave? Is everything alright?"

The intensity of those eyes was unnerving. Dave shifted, uncomfortably. "Uh…um…" Damn it, he'd _practiced_ his lines, he'd worked out a half-dozen different ways to start. Problem was, he couldn't remember _any_ of them right now… "It's, uh… something I need to tell you, um…"

Paul assayed a few openers. "You're thinking about the military? I'll admit, we don't have much of a military tradition in our family, but it's an honorable career."

Huh? Oh… His dad was reading another WWII history novel; he could just make out enough of the cover to read _The Longest Winter._ No wonder that was the first place his mind jumped to. Dave shook his head. "No. I mean, um… I've never thought about the military, sir, no."

"You're not in any more trouble in school, are you? Dave, you promised-"

Oh, he was in trouble all right, but not in the way his dad meant. "No, Dad. Besides, Figgins would have called, wouldn't he?"

His father nodded slowly, mind visibly ratcheting down the list of possible serious issues a teenage boy could get into. "A girl then? You've gotten her pregnant?"

Dave closed his eyes. This was making it _so_ much harder, playing twenty-questions with his dad. Time to short-circuit things. "No, Dad. I'm never going to get a girl pregnant." He swallowed hard, watching his dad's brain assimilate this information, coming to the logical conclusion…

"Dad. I'm gay."

There. He'd said it. He'd finally said it out loud, to the one person whose good opinion of him mattered extremely. He watched his father's face, looking for his expression, watching for some clue as to what he should do next. Run? Fight? Hide? He eyed the door. He could beat his old man to it, but could he slam it behind himself fast enough to make good his getaway…?

Paul's face was blank, giving nothing away as he absorbed the news, chose his own reaction. Dave saw his lips twitching as he recited some internal mantra, similar to his own anger-management tools. He mentally cringed. If he'd used those tools rather than going off half-cocked this morning, he'd never have… no, no, focus on the now.

Paul Karofsky blew out his breath. Good sign, a very good sign. "Are you sure?" he asked, at last. Dave was shocked at how calm his dad seemed… until he remembered that the elder Karofsky had been attending therapy sessions himself, off and on, ever since his son's little hospital-stint. _I guess therapy has been good for both of us_.

Dave nodded. "Yeah. I haven't experimented or anything!" he was quick to reassure his father, "but, yeah, I'm sure. This… isn't something you can exactly have doubts about." Well… he was pretty sure that some people did, but he wasn't one of them. He'd known from the first time he couldn't get excited with a half-naked cheerleader breathing on his neck in the backseat of the car, from the first time he'd had his breath taken away by the sight of Kurt, walking down the hallway. It had been a long and painful road from there to here. And here was, potentially, the highest mountain he'd have to face. He watched his dad carefully. The initial shock was over…what would he do now?

With a very-controlled breath, Paul reached over and picked up his book. Opening it to his spot, he began reading. "…Dad?"

"Mm," he grunted. "Thanks for telling me, Davey."

Taking that for a dismissal, he left his father to his thoughts. It was a sure thing he wasn't actually _reading._ Dave wondered how long it would take for his dad to notice that he was holding his book upside-down.

~~~glee~~~

It was later that evening when his sister knocked on his door. "Dave? Can I come in?"

Dave set down his pencil and rubbed his face. "Sure, Karis, come on in." To some guys, their younger siblings were the bane of their existence. But for all that his little sister annoyed him to death sometimes, he absolutely doted on her. No one picked on _his_ baby sister and lived to tell the tale. And she adored her big brother. Dave mentally winced, realizing just how long it had been since they'd had one of their brother-sister talks. He'd been out of it for longer than he'd realized. His big funk had robbed more than just him; he'd been hurting _her_ too. Well. No more.

Karis came in and sat down on his bed. "You okay, Davey?"

He blinked. That wasn't the opener he'd expected. "Yeah. Fine. Why do you ask?"

She picked at a loose thread in the quilt. Dave would die before he admitted it, but he loved that quilt and would never get rid of it, no matter how old-fashioned it seemed. His grandmother had made it for him, almost the last project she'd completed before the Parkinsons stole the use of her hands. "It's just – well, you didn't look at Dad once tonight, and he wasn't looking at you, either. Did you guys have a fight?"

Why couldn't Karis be a typical, oblivious thirteen-year old? She saw too darn much… "Not…exactly. No. I…" He took a deep breath. "I just… told him I was – I am… gay." There. Out. Was it just him, or was this getting easier with practice? Or…not. He watched his sister's face for her reaction. Much as he had feared disappointing his father, Karis was right up there on the list of people he didn't want to hurt with his news.

But she didn't look surprised. She cocked an eyebrow at him. "Is that all?"

Now it was Dave's turn to be shocked. "What do you _mean_, 'is that all'?"

She rolled her eyes. As a teenager, she had the knack, but the expression still looked a bit practiced. Huh, well, give it a few years; she'll get the hang of it. "Of _course_ you're gay. I could tell, even if Mom and Dad couldn't. Or wouldn't. I've been waiting for you to tell me for months now."

He gaped at her. "What do you mean, 'months'? You've known about it that long?"

She shrugged. "Duh. It's not like it was that hard to figure out."

He thought about shaking her down for details, then thought better of it. "And you haven't told anybody?"

"Heck, I wasn't even sure _you_ knew. So no, I didn't tell anyone." She got up and gave him an impulsive hug around his shoulders. "You're my big brother, Davey. _Someone's_ got to look out for you, and I nominate me for the job."

It was a phrase she'd used ever since she'd learned the word 'nominate,' her way of saying both, 'thank you,' and 'I love you.' He smiled, and hugged her back. "You're gonna make a great woman someday," he told her.

"Duh," she answered, grinning. "But not half as good a man as you're gonna be."

After today's debacle, _that _was debatable. But he maybe stood a better chance of it if he could pull off this half-formed plan in the back of his mind. And then he had a brilliant brainstorm. "Hey, Karis, have you still got that _Moulin Rouge_ soundtrack?"

She thought for a minute. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure the CD's floating around here somewhere. Why?"

"Could I borrow it for a few days? And the DVD?" If he was going to do this, by God, he was going to do it right.

His little sister nodded. "Yeah. I'll go grab it."

Dave flipped through the school events calendar the school department provided every family every year, finding today's date and dragging it along the week. There. Friday. He'd have barely enough time to pull this off.

He hoped…


	10. Doing

"_What we have we prize not to the worth__  
__Whiles we enjoy it, but being lacked and lost,__  
__Why, then we rack the value, then we find__  
__The virtue that possession would not show us__  
__Whiles it was ours."  
__~ Shakespeare_

_The Bard is right. I own not Glee, nor Hodges' song quoted herein, nor, naturally, do I own Shakespeare, and thus I can fully appreciate their virtue and (strictly non-material) value. _

_I've been neglecting poor Kurt's view of things for the last couple chapters, so it's time to get his input on this whole thing. And to prime the pumps for Dave's big scene. __Blaine-haters, eat your hearts out… _

_Incidentally, this is the penultimate chapter, with one more on the table and an epilogue in the works. Thanks so much to everyone who has read and enjoyed my story thus far. Without you, this would, literally, never have gotten written. I owe a huge debt of gratitude to all my fans, both those who regularly review (jekyllhj7, Dreaming-Of-A-Nightmare, and - y'all are the best!), those who have dropped in the occasional review just to let me know you're listening (too many to name right here; just know you're all loved!), and especially those who just like to lurk and let me find out about it on my Story Traffic page. When I first started writing 'Trust,' I never anticipated this much lovin'. Thank you, thank you, thank you._

_Now, cue the music and let the chapter begin! Read, review, and as always, enjoy! _

* * *

_He hasn't changed. Why would I think he's changed? He's still the same jerk he always was. How could I be so wrong? _

The bathroom was blessedly empty, and Kurt had done his best to bar the door with the garbage can. He stripped off his shirt, rinsing it under the flow from the sink. He frowned; the red syrup wasn't coming out, and it had been so long since the bullies had declared a slushie war that he'd stopped carrying stain remover with him. White. He'd had to wear white today. At least it was down his back and not his front; he'd be able to hide the stain under his backpack, mostly.

Kurt shivered. His skin was blotchy red, mostly from the cold, some from the syrup. He stared at his face in the mirror, red and streaky. He scrubbed it with water, washing away all evidence of his weakness. Damn. He'd been so terrified when Azimio had grabbed him. The big footballer had it out for him, blaming him for what had happened to Karofsky. Ha. Like Azimio would have any doubts about Karofsky after today.

He frowned at his reflection. What was Dave thinking? Had all of his friendship, all of their conversations, all of his vulnerabilities been just a… a ruse? To make this final betrayal so much more painful? Dave did have that sadistic streak in him, no doubt, and Kurt _was_ his favorite target. But the scheme was too deeply laid to be a scheme from the start. _Maybe part of him _was_ genuine. At first. _He looked down at the soaking fabric in his hands. The red stain glared up at him, condemning. _But he's chosen his place now. He's a bully. And he's not my friend._

He couldn't face the school after this. He waited until the bell had rung and the coast was clear, then dashed for his locker. Tossing on his coat over his bare torso, he gathered the books he needed into his arms. His soiled backpack had already been deposited in the garbage can back in the bathroom.

It was too far gone to bother trying to salvage, anyway.

Kurt headed out into the parking lot, glad that he had his own key to the car. He had enough presence of mind to text Finn, _Leaving. I've got the car. Sorry_, before peeling out of the lot and off to he-didn't-know-where. He glanced in his rearview once, when a movement in the mirror caught his eye, but he couldn't make out the features on the figure that was emerging from the school door. He smiled, sourly. Evidently he wasn't the only one sneaking out. He briefly wondered what other, better things the other person had going on. Huh, he snorted. It was nothing to do with _him_, anyway.

~~~glee~~~

The outdoor amphitheater was freezing at this time of year, but that didn't stop Kurt from pulling up outside of it and sitting, appreciating the aesthetics of the scene. The leaden grey sky and cold, grey concrete of the amphitheater's band shell complimented Kurt's desolate mood. It wasn't enough. He shut off the car and pocketed the keys, wandering down the slanting ramp to the raised stage. The past couple of warm days had melted the snow, leaving the concrete clear.

Kurt sat on the edge of the stage, one knee raised, the other dangling. He looked around, up at the curving roof, out over the still-snow-covered seats, and beyond, to the deserted park and living city past that.

Alone. It felt good.

Humming a few bars, he caught the sound of his own voice, deliciously echo-y and plaintive within the man-made cave. He stood, taking a few steps here and there, singing scales until he found the spot with the best acoustics. Then he launched into the most heartrending ballad he could think of, "My Side of the Story," by Hodges, just to hear the bouncing reverberations.

"…This is my side of the story, only my burden to bear. Nobody cares, nobody's there, no one will hear…my side of the story."

"…my side of the story…" echoed another voice, not Kurt's, in perfect harmony.

Kurt froze, and Blaine emerged from around the corner of the band shell. "I heard you singing," he admitted, shame-faced. "I… I wanted to talk with you, Kurt. I've wanted to talk with you for a long time; you've been shutting me out." His voice was hurt and slightly accusing.

Kurt looked around. He was trapped in the middle of a bare expanse of stage, with no way to run and still preserve his dignity. Well. He squared his shoulders. "Blaine," he said, voice quelling. "I wasn't aware we _had_ much to talk about. You made everything quite clear the last time we saw one another. How is Percy, by the way? Have you been discarded yet, or is he still moderately amused by you?" It was cruel, he knew, but he didn't feel much like being nice to his ex.

"…" Blaine shut his mouth and tried again. "It was nothing, Kurt. Believe me, it was nothing."

"It certainly didn't _look_ like nothing," Kurt spat. "It_ looked_ like the two of you were quite enjoying each other."

"…It was a mistake, Kurt, one I regret making every day. Haven't you gotten any of my messages? Phone calls, texts, emails?" He came closer, hands out, supplicating. His handsome dark eyes were begging, and Kurt remembered the first time he'd seen those eyes, serenading him despite the fact that they hadn't even exchanged names yet. _What a player,_ Kurt huffed.

"They'd have been returned to you, seeing as I blocked you," Kurt snapped. "Which you would have known if you'd actually _sent _any. It's been_ two weeks_, Blaine. You know where I live, where I go to school; if you'd been that determined to see me, you could have stopped by any time."

Blaine looked at him, hope blossoming in his eyes. "You would have seen me?"

"No." Kurt's answer was swift. "But I would have known you were _trying_."

The prep-schooler stopped ten feet away, too cowed to come any closer. "Kurt… you were just singing about 'my side of the story.' Will you listen to mine? Let me explain?"

He really didn't feel like it. But they'd been an item for too long for him to shut Blaine out without giving him a chance. "…Fine."

"Percy and I have… history. A long time ago. But I…it…ended badly." Blaine shuffled his feet, making it obvious that there was more that he wasn't telling.

"How so." Kurt's voice was clipped.

Blaine's hands twisted in his jacket pockets, bunching and knotting the fabric. "Broken hearts. On… on both sides."

"So that was just a necking session for old-time's sake, is that it?" he demanded, anger leaking into his voice.

Blaine took in a deep breath, but let it out in a sigh. "He'd just broken up with his boyfriend. He needed a friend, Kurt," he looked up from the ground, eyes begging Kurt to understand. "I just wanted to be there for him. Things just… got out of hand."

And Kurt was tempted to believe him. Except for one little matter… "Mike and Wes knew about it, Blaine," he said, watching for his reaction.

"…W-what?" 'Deer-in-the-headlights' was a fair description.

Kurt's lip twisted up in a sneer. "Forgot about them, didn't you? They tried to _warn_ me, to send me _away_. To keep me from seeing _that._ So they knew. It wasn't spontaneous, was it, Blaine? It had happened before. While we were dating?" It was half a question, half an accusation.

And Blaine knew he was caught. His entire posture sagged, like a balloon with the air being let out. "…yes," he whispered, so softly that Kurt couldn't hear it.

But he could read body language just fine. His eyes blazed. "I can't believe I wasted so much time and energy and bloody _emotion_ on a cheating piece of filth like you!" he spat.

Blaine's spine straightened with an indignant, "Hey!" but Kurt was already off the stage and halfway up the aisle to the lip of the bowl. Blaine jumped down and followed after him, but Kurt spun around, stopping him in his tracks.

"You may think it's okay to cheat on your boyfriend, but I don't. I'm better than that, and I _deserve_ better. You aren't good enough for me." With that, he spun on his heel and stalked to his car. A curious sensation grew in his chest, like his heart was about to grow wings and soar. _I _do_ deserve better,_ he thought. The realization made him smile.

Blaine reached to top of the ramp just as Kurt was climbing into his car. "You think I was the only one cheating?" he demanded, stung and angry. "What about all the times you were with Dave Karofsky, huh? Talking, drinks… You were dating him on the side, Kurt. And you have the_ gall_ to tell me that I was cheating with Percy!" He spat his acidic words at him, but Kurt simply closed the door and drove off, not even bothering to look back.

~~~glee~~~

Home. His room. Alone.

Thinking.

Well. He was glad to have finally had it out with Blaine; he'd been right, the conversation had needed to happen. Well, 'conversation.' At least he knew the whole story now, and could stop second-guessing himself.

It was Blaine's parting shot that was twisting his guts into origami shapes. _Me and Dave? Dating?_ It made him sick to his stomach. He clutched his throw pillow, hunkered down into a corner of his room, trying to find some place small enough to hold in his restless urge to pace.

Closet.

He ousted his shoes and tucked himself down, under the artificial ceiling made by the hems of his clothes, closing the door until just a crack of light was dancing across his toes, and then not even that.

In the close darkness, he finally let his shoulders relax, felt the tension ebb away. He vaguely wondered why hiding your sexuality was referred to as being 'in the closet.' Hiding was uncomfortable. But here, in the small, dark cave that smelled of fabric and cedar blocks, he felt secure. It was his favorite place to go when the world was crushing in on him, ever since before his mother died. It was safe here. Things could be thought in here that couldn't be thought outside. Like that Blaine thought he and Dave had had anything going on between them.

It was preposterous. Dave _totally_ wasn't his type, no way. He was a bully. He was a jerk. He was the bane of Kurt's existence.

_Not the last couple of months…_

He shoved the thought away, but it wormed in under the door, insistent. _Not the last couple of months_.

Whatever. If there _had_ been anything, that little seedling had been ripped up by the roots today. _He made his choice,_ he told the thought. _He chose Azimio and _his_ crowd. He's a bully through-and-through. There's no redeeming him now_.

But… Dave had done much worse to Kurt, before. Threatened to kill him. That kiss… Kurt had been terrified that he'd be walking home one day and get raped. Two slushies were nothing in comparison. And he'd managed to forgive the bigger crimes. _He showed me he was sorry. Damn it, he tried to _kill_ himself. This… he's not sorry for this. If he were, he'd have let me go._

_He didn't slushie your face, did he? Just dumped it in your backpack. Not on you._

…_No. Way. _

"Kurt?" Finn's voice broke through his little internal skirmish. "You in here?"

Kurt ran his hand over his face, arranging his expression back to normal, before pushing open the door and unfolding himself. "Yeah, Finn, I'm here."

His step-brother blinked. "I thought you already came out of the closet," he joked, but his grin faded when Kurt didn't respond.

"What?" he demanded, brushing past his step- brother to tidy away all evidence of his emotional roller coaster.

"You skipped afternoon classes," Finn said, standing in the door, watching him.

Kurt kept his back turned. "And?"

"What's going on with you? I haven't seen you this upset since before the wedding."

Kurt's eyebrows flew up. "Well, aren't you the observant one. What happened, Finn, you get sensitivity training?"

The quarterback bridled. "Yeah. From Burt. Who is going to be pissed you skipped and I didn't stop you. Now what's going on?"

To tell or not to tell? Hell, it was no question. He looked his brother straight in the eye. "Karofsky slushied me today. Bully's Alley. Him and Azimio. No way was I going to class in a wet shirt."

Finn's face darkened. "Damn it. Kurt, why didn't you let us protect you?" He held up a hand to forestall Kurt's protest. "I don't care what you say, starting tomorrow, the glee guys are on complete Kurt-protection duty. They won't have a chance to get you again."

He wasn't going to win this one. He wasn't sure he wanted to. Besides, it felt good to have someone stand up for him. With a smile and a sigh, Kurt nodded consent. "Sure. Thanks, Finn."

Finn slung his arm around his step-brother's shoulder, pulling him in tight for a dude-hug. "We're a family, Kurt. We look out for one another. It's what brothers do."

"Yeah… Thanks. Bro."

Finn squeezed once and released him. "Oh, hey, Sam said he found your backpack in the bathroom," he said, reminded. "He gave it to me to give back to you." He handed the bag over. Kurt examined it. It had been cleaned.

"Wow. Talk about service. Remind me to thank Sam." A thought occurred to him. "How did he know it was mine?"

Finn rolled his eyes. "It's kind of unique." Kurt had to laugh at that.

Alone again in his room, Kurt rubbed his fingers against the material of his restored bag.

It hadn't been beyond salvage after all.


	11. Dancing

_Le sigh. I don't own Glee, and I don't own Moulin Rouge, though I depended heavily on both for my inspiration for this story. Please don't sue me. Or if you do, can I meet Max Adler, Chris Colfer, and Ewan McGregor in person? Please? _

_Wow. So who here watched Sunday's post-superbowl episode of Glee? Talk about awesome! I think everyone who was with creaturefear (especially me!) in wanting Dave-redemption got a serious preview to better things to come. (Of course, I'm pretty sure creaturefear was referring to 'Trust's version of Dave; I hope y'all won't be disappointed!) _

_Whew. Talk about a hard chapter to write. I had to go with a couple betas on this (thanks, probablyquantum and __Ongakukoi__!), just to help me rework some of the kinks. That's the really hard part about being able to see a scene so vividly in one's head before one writes it – little things tend to get left behind. And more often than not, the reaction to my romantic scribblings has tended to be, "Oh. That was… uh… sweet. Very sweet. Yes. I'm going to go throw up now." SO many kudos to my betas for helping with that section! Needless to say, this chapter had (has) me nervous. Let me know what you think? Please?_

_Thanks to all my readers! 1300 hits in the first week of February. Alone. *faints* Y'all are the greatest!_

_As per usual, read, enjoy, review! Thanks again!_

_~Roya_

_Oh yeah, PS - there IS an epilogue in the works, since my quality review board dubbed it necessary and threatened to hang me by my toenails unless I wrote one. So yay! More Kurt and Dave yumminess!_

* * *

_Thursday_

"Karis? Do you really think… I mean, will this… I mean…"

Karis leaned against the back of her big brother's chair, her arm circling around his neck in a backwards hug. "It's going to be fine," she reassured him. "_You're_ going to be fine. Don't worry."

Dave gave a smile, reaching up to hang his hand off of her clasped ones. She squeezed his fingers reassuringly. "Has Dad…said anything? Or Mom?"

He shook his head. "Big blank. Which," he shrugged, "is way better than what I expected. With the way they talk about… about people like me, I was expecting to get tossed out of the house. I had a bag packed and everything."

She squeezed his shoulders. "It's a lot for them to absorb."

"Huh," he coughed a laugh. "Believe me, I know." He fingered the scar across his wrist.

Karis caught his hand and turned it over, rubbing her thumb across his scar. "It's looking good," she murmured. "Have you been using that gel I gave you?"

He nodded. "I think it's working. It's starting to fade."

Her fingers rested on his palm. "It's okay to be scared, Davey. This is a big thing."

Not looking up, he covered her hand with his. "Huge. But I'm tired of hiding, Karis. Dad didn't raise either one of us to be cowards. And I've been a huge coward. It's time to make things right."

Karis eyed the computer. "Well, this will certainly go a long ways toward that. I just hope everything works out okay."

He ran his hand through his short hair, blowing out his breath in one long sigh. "Me too."

~~~glee~~~

The Dream assaulted him again that night.

This time he was at the theater, center stage, brilliant white lights blinding him as he looked out at the audience. He couldn't make out any faces, but he knew they were out there, he could feel them breathing. Their eyes on him felt like lasers, slowly burning holes through his clothes, through his skin, through his soul.

Just before he was about to panic and start running, a lion approached him. It was silent as it came on velvet-padded paws, its heavy coat the color of living gold under the bright stage lights. His mane framed a face that echoed infinite wisdom, and his eyes were at the same time both kind and fierce.

The lion came closer and closer. Dave's knees quaked and he wanted to run, but, as is the way with dreams, the stage had disappeared, leaving nothing but the road at his back and the lion before him. _If I get on the road, I'll be stuck_, he realized, unable to run, unable to change direction, unable to leave. He'd be a sitting duck. _But if I stand here, he'll get me anyway_.

So he stood, rooted to the spot, until the lion was almost upon him. Then it opened its huge mouth, and spoke.

"Peace."

It didn't work. Dave was as terrified as ever.

The lion sighed and sat back on its haunches, and suddenly Dave recognized him as a man, the same man he had always met at this point in the Dream. The lion offered his paw. "Take my hand and fly," he invited.

Dave looked beyond the paw at that wild and fierce and somehow almost-human face.

And shook his head. "No. _Hell_ no. I don't fly. No way."

"You either fly or you fall," chided the beast. "There is no third option."

Dave turned to look at the road, feeling its magnetic pull on his feet, on his legs. It was so strong that he took a step in that direction, and another… and stopped. Through sheer effort of will, though it cost him all his strength to do so, he stopped, and turned to the lion. He held out his hand, a supplicating Adam on the Sistine Chapel ceiling.

The lion, who was no longer a lion, but a man, reached out and took Dave's hand. Instantly, the pull of the road vanished, though the road itself did not disappear. "Good choice," the man said.

Dave started to shrug, then stopped, really looking at his rescuer for the first time since his transformation. "_Kurt?_"

"Nah," the man-who-looked-like-Kurt shrugged. "I'm just a symbol. This _is_ a dream, after all, nothing is what it seems, and everything has a meaning."

Dave blinked. "And you being here means…?"

Not-Kurt grinned. "Your dream, your brain, your symbols, crypto-boy. I'm here because you put me here. But, you know, speaking strictly for myself – which is you, by the way, since this is _your_ subconscious – I'd say you're ready for a change." He hit Dave friendly-like on the back as he walked off across the road, dissipating it with every step. It coiled away from his feet like smoke. "Later, Dave!" he called without actually turning around, tossing up a hand in a farewell wave.

Dave waved back, and found himself in his room, in his bed, one minute before his alarm went off.

He was smiling.

~~~glee~~~

_Friday_

Despite the Dream, it took all of Dave's courage to drag himself to school. He was distracted all morning. His English Lit teacher finally slammed a book down on his desk to get his attention, pointedly suggesting that he 'start reading on paragraph three, if you please, Mr. Karofsky.' His stomach had itself wound up in knots so that he couldn't have eaten even if he'd had the time. Which he didn't. He was too busy trying to figure out how to break into the sound system to bother with lunch. He'd been caught, of course; fortunately it was by Brad, the glee-club's pianist. He listened patiently to Dave's stumbling explanation, then had taken the disc and promised he'd work everything out. He'd even pointed Dave to the right supply locker and oh-so-casually left the door unlocked.

Leaving Dave with nothing to do but nurse a developing ulcer as he awaited the big moment.

The bell rang, releasing the students to the all-school assembly. The mood in the hall was jubilant – _any_ excuse to get out of class was welcomed by McKinley students just as by high school students everywhere. And for kids with better things to do than watch 'Drink, Drive, Die' videos with a representative from the local emergency department, the chaos afforded an ideal chance to slip away for more clandestine activities.

"Karofsky." Dave felt his shoulder grabbed and spun to face Azimio. "Dude, where you going? We gotta get moving if we're going to score prime seats. Cheerios!" He slapped his forehead in exasperation at Dave's blank look. "You can look right up their skirts if you get the right seat."

Moment of truth. "I'm not that interested in cheerleader's skirts, Z," he said. "That's not the way I roll. See you later," and he disappeared into the crowd. Behind him, he could vaguely hear Azimio's incoherent sputter of confusion.

The supply locker was, fortunately, around the corner from where the glee kids were gathered. Old hat as they were with public performances, he could still hear nervous tittering from the group. Today was a practice day, a rehearsal for regionals. And the chance to show off their stuff for the school...

Brad caught Dave a few minutes before the assembly. "Kurt's got a solo straight off," he told him.

Butterflies fluttered in his gut. "Thanks, Brad. I owe you big time."

The pianist waved him off with a grin that said, 'good luck.'

Dave gave him a sick smile in return and headed for his self-appointed spot just outside the doors, on the opposite side of the gymnasium from the New Directions. They had two numbers to sing, led by Kurt's solo. The contralto was already out on stage, facing backwards, waiting for the opening bars to spin and launch into song.

Dave focused on his breathing. _Calm… calm… ca-_

"What do you think you're doing?"

He choked, caught by surprise. "Finn! Puckerman. What are you doing here?"

The pair of footballers radiated menace as they loomed up in front of them, a united front between him and the door.

"What are _you_ doing here, Karofsky?" Puck's voice was low, threatening.

"Nothin' to do with you." Dave stared between them, ears straining to hear what was going on inside the auditorium. _My cue, I can't miss my cue…_

Finn got up in Dave's face. "If it's something to do with Kurt, then it has _everything_ to do with me. You think you can intimidate him and get away with it?"

Looking over their shoulders, Dave saw two things. The first was Brad struggling with the sound system. The second was Kurt, anxiously shifting as the titters of nervous laughter filled the gym. He took a step to the side, and Dave knew it was now or never.

Raising the microphone in his hand, he took a breath, and sang.

"Come what may…"

The song came out loud and clear over the speakers. The crowd stilled, looking for the singer. Kurt froze mid-stride, eyes flicking around, searching. Finn and Puck looked at Dave as though he'd grown a third eyeball, but Dave didn't care, he had eyes only for Kurt.

"Come what may…" he sang again, stepping forward. Slowly, Puck and Finn parted, letting him past. Kurt's eyes widened as Dave walked toward him, momentarily confused until the next line, when Dave, gaze locked on Kurt's, belted out, "I will love you… Until my dying day…"

_Then_ the music finally kicked on, but Kurt didn't pick up the song. Dave's throat went suddenly dry. Didn't he like it? Did he hate it? Was he going to run off, embarrassed? Dave couldn't blame him if he did, but Kurt stayed, waiting.

He reached the stage, the intro music chiming from the overhead speakers. "What are you doing?" hissed Kurt, eyes flicking to the staring crowd and back. Azimio was right down front, mouth gaping.

Dave drew Kurt in with his eyes. "Apologizing," he said, then lifted the microphone for the true opening line. "Never knew I could feel like this…"

He drew nearer and nearer to the duet portion, eyes locked on Kurt. There was nothing in the world aside from him. His face was an open book as he warred within himself. What would he do?

Dave's part ended, and he held his breath, praying, hoping. There was a moment of silence that sucked all the oxygen out of the air around them.

Slowly, hesitantly, Kurt stepped forward, his hand reaching out for the microphone, plucking it from its stand. His lips parted and Dave's heart nearly stopped.

The gentle contratenor voice swept through the gymnasium like a spring breeze. "…Suddenly the world seems such a perfect place…" His eyes met Dave's, and, slowly, a smile started to form.

Dave's face lit with an answering grin. _Yes!_

It was sublime, the ultimate love song_._ Kurt sang, Dave sang, they were in perfect harmony. At the apex, Kurt switched off his microphone, pocketing it. He wrapped his hands around Dave's, and the two sang into the same mike, the same words, inches apart.

Dave's eyes searched Kurt's as they sang. _I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Do you forgive me? Can you ever forgive me?_

Kurt's reply was instant. _I can forgive. I do forgive. Just don't turn on me._

_Never._

"I will love you… until my dy…ing…day…!"

Their last notes hanging on the air, the crescendo of music deafening their ears, Dave lifted one hand, cupping Kurt's cheek. Kurt couched the microphone in its stand and closed the distance between them.

This time it was Kurt who initiated the kiss, and Dave's heart soared as he kissed him back.


	12. Destiny

_I own this story, but not its characters, universe, or the Glee TV show. Darn. _

_Wow. This has been quite a ride. Thank you, all of you, so much! This was really a work for the fans; you kept me writing and the creative juices flowing. I seriously couldn't have done it without you! I hope you enjoy this final episode of 'Trust.' I rather liked writing it. : )

* * *

_

"Then what happened, Daddy?" the wide-eyed ten year old asked from her seat on the living room rug.

Dave scooped her up in a hug, tickling her until she laughed. "After a kiss like that, well, let's just say I wasn't hiding anymore."

"They were still talking about it when I started at McKinley the next year." Overhearing Donna's question, Karis came back into the room. She picked up her nephew from the couch and sat in his place, holding the sleeping boy on her lap. "'Epic' pretty much sums it up."

Kurt ruffled the hair of the toddler zooming past, lost in her own world. John, Karis' husband, swept the baby up and headed upstairs, murmuring about bedtime. "Not that it was easy," Kurt commented, eyes following his brother-in-law. "For either of us."

"Mm," Dave agreed, his expression darkening.

"Uncle Finn didn't hurt you, did he?" Donna asked, worried.

"No, sweetheart. Uncle Finn was happy for us." _Eventually_. He and Kurt exchanged looks, remembering the long, hard road it had been to get both their families to accept the boys' choice for a boyfriend.

"Aw!" the girl grinned, looking between both her daddies. "High school sweethearts!"

"That's not the whole story, is it?" asked eight year old Henry, not looking up from his puzzle. "You went to different colleges, right?"

Once again surprised by her boy's intelligence, Karis watched as Kurt went to sit by her son, picking up a piece and slotting it into place. Henry grinned and shifted the box closer to him.

"Yeah, we lost touch after high school," Kurt took up the tale. "Dave wanted to get as far from Lima as he could," _not surprising_, "and none of our top choices matched up. I got turned down for Julliard."

"_Barely_," Dave emphasized from the couch. "And I still say they were fools to reject you."

Kurt grinned; this was an old gripe, but definitely one that he still enjoyed hearing.

"Still," Kurt continued, unperturbed, "I got into a pretty good school. Double-majored in music and biology, kind of by accident. Turns out I had more of a talent for science than I thought. My professor asked me to help out with his study of the effect of music on botanical development, and, well, my interest grew from there."

"He sang to plants," Dave translated for the younger listeners, with a wicked grin at Kurt.

"Daddy, you didn't!" shrieked the girl, and Kurt nodded.

"Sure did, Donna. Every afternoon, singing in the greenhouse. Though considering how much those ferns flourished, I'd say they were the most appreciative audience I've ever had. Well, second-most…" He shot Dave a smoldering look, making the other man choke on his drink. Kurt's eyebrows twitched, and Karis could almost hear him thinking, _One point for me_, behind his evil grin.

"Got my name in _Science_ magazine as an undergrad – that's good, kids, try to look impressed," he said, dryly, deftly distracting Donna from her puzzled contemplation of the men's nonverbal conversation. "Opened the doors for me in a direction I'd never anticipated. Which was really good, because the economy stank and there was no market for music majors that didn't involve the occasional street corner. Went on to graduate and post graduate courses, got my doctorate, and eventually stumbled into running my own lab." Henry grinned, slotting another piece into place.

"You fibber!" Karis laughed, tossing a pillow at Kurt's head. He caught the missile and deftly returned it, nearly missing her outstretched hand. She saved it before it could smack Seth, asleep in her lap. Plumping the pillow under her arm – which was heavily weighted with little boy – she rolled her eyes. "You sweated more blood for that promotion than you ever did for a show."

"Not so," Dave countered. "I think he sweated plenty of blood when he was practicing for your wedding, Kar'."

She grinned. "You mean the song he sang straight at you?"

"Yep."

"And you with a ring box halfway out of your pocket when he asked?"

"Yep." Dave looked over at Kurt, grinning fondly. "Great minds think alike, don't they?"

"So what happened next, Daddy?" begged Donna, pulling on his sleeve.

"Well, after a suitably long engagement…"

"_No!_ To you! College!"

Karis' eyes sparkled as her brother melted to his daughter's appealing gaze. He always did have that fatal soft-spot for blue eyes.

"I kicked around for a year, taking generals and getting in trouble. Then I took a world literature course that grabbed my attention with both hands and wouldn't let go. I declared my major, got my bachelor's in Literature, and got a job teaching, with some coaching on the side."

"How'd you meet back up with Uncle Kurt?" Henry asked, from where he was head-down in the puzzle-pile, pretending he didn't care about what the adults were saying.

Karis knew her son too well, though. "It was while your dad and I were courting," she told him. "We rented a ski lodge for a week and needed a couple more people to help spread costs around, so we invited Dave."

"Yeah, and then abandoned me," Dave complained good-naturedly. "Can you believe your mom made me ski _alone?_" Not getting a response from Henry, he turned to Donna. "Can you believe that?"

She giggled and nodded, and Dave threw up his hands. "I get no sympathy."

"How about you, Kurt?" asked John, rejoining them. Karis scooted over so her husband could sit down beside her. "Mandy's asleep," he answered her quiet inquiry. "So how about it, Kurt? How'd you wind up at Vail?"

"Conference," Kurt answered, turning a puzzle piece this way and that, trying to figure out where it fit. "Last-minute thing. I was just an intern at the time and wouldn't have been able to go except that one of the assistants got sick right before they left. Doc said I could have her seat."

"So I'm sitting at this ba- club," Dave said, with a sideways glance at the prepubescent population of the living room, "and there's some bad amateur karaoke happening on stage, so I'm pretty much tuning it out when an angel takes the mike." He and Kurt shared a remembering glance. "He does three songs, and by the time he's through, I'm practically sitting on the stage. We talked until six AM, and by then, I knew he was my One."

"Took a bit longer to convince me," admitted Kurt, ruefully.

John laughed at that. "Can't have taken much longer, since you were proposing at our wedding two months later."

Kurt came to stand behind Dave, hugging him around the shoulders. "Yes, well, no one ever said I was slow once I made up my mind."

"Nope," agreed Dave, tilting his head back for a kiss. Henry groaned and hid his eyes, but stars-in-her-eyes Donna watched with a grin on her face.

"Alright, bedtime, Punkinhead," Dave said, sweeping his giggling daughter up under one arm. Kurt reclaimed four year old Seth from Karis; the sleeping boy woke up just enough to bury his nose in the curve of his daddy's neck, snuggling deeper into sleep.

Karis and John saw them to their car. Pulling her brother aside while Kurt negotiated Seth into his booster seat, Karis kissed his cheek. "You're a great dad, you know that, right?" she said. "Those kids are so lucky to have you and Kurt as their parents."

He watched his family, smiling. Kurt was checking buckles and Donna was nodding off in the backseat, still protesting that she wasn't sleepy. "Yep," he answered. "I don't know what I'd do without them. I love 'em too much." _All three of them_, was unspoken, but Karis heard it just the same.

"Oh, hey," John suddenly thought of something. "I almost forgot – tell Kurt we've got tickets to his concert opening night."

"And closing night, too," Karis put in. "He puts on the best shows, it's worth seeing twice." She thought for a second. "And it's always great to see you, too, Davey."

"Gee, thanks," he answered, mock-sarcastically. "I'll be sure to tell him. He's been nervous about the choir – third year is always the hardest, he says."

John snorted. "Right. It'll be perfect, as usual. I'm glad he's still singing, though. It'd be a shame to lose all that talent to the scientific world."

Karis gave her husband an odd look.

He shrugged. "What?"

Dave rolled his eyes as Karis replied, "Only you, John…"

"G'night!" Dave called, opening the car door and sliding behind the wheel. Karis and John stood in the doorway, waving their goodbyes, before finally going inside to tuck Henry into bed.

"I don't think I've ever heard your brother be so candid before," John commented that night as he and Karis prepared for bed. "I had no idea how hard it was for him. For them," he amended. "Kurt's had a hell of a time of it, too."

Karis frowned into the darkness. "They didn't tell the half of it. It got… bad, at McKinley. For both of them, but it was worse for Dave. If it hadn't been for Kurt…" she trailed off, thinking of all the dark nights she'd held her brother's hand, and, more often, the nights when he'd cranked his stereo up so loud that no one could hear him.

"Still," John murmured, "There was Robert, in our year." Karis nodded, remembering. Robert was a skinny kid who'd come out in their sophomore year. And, incredibly enough, _no one had minded_. "Can't say for sure, but I think those two might've done more than they credit themselves for."

Karis rolled her eyes to the dark ceiling and turned over, cuddling him. "And maybe it was just Robert's winning personality that did it. This isn't TV, John, things don't happen that way in real life."

"Sure they do," he replied, hugging her body close to his and stealing a kiss. "We just don't pay enough attention to notice."

Then then he made sure that she _was_ paying attention and noticed _everything_.

~~~glee~~~

Kurt can Dave crawled into their own bed, having settled both kids into dreamland. "Our family's pretty cool, you know that?" Kurt murmured.

Dave nodded, brushing Kurt's longish hair back behind his ear and kissing him softly. Even after eleven years of marriage, he still loved him as much as the day he'd chosen Kurt above his own petty reputation. "Karis is a treasure. And John's a cool dude, too."

"I'm so lucky," Kurt whispered, his breath hot on Dave's ear.

"No luckier than me," Dave answered, pulling his love into his arms.

~~~glee~~~

The night was dark and the sky cloudy. The country slept.

But on one street, in one house, in one dark room, a quiet murmuring broke the silence.

"I love you."

A hand slid across bare flesh, lips finding their mate in the shadows.

"I love you, too. Forever."


End file.
